


A Guide To The Universe

by defenseOfabsurdity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cold War, Don't Have to Know Homestuck Canon, End of the World, Gen, Genocide, Implied/Referenced Torture, In-Depth Classpect System, In-Depth Magic, Kidnapping, Manipulation & Murder, Muggle vs. Wizard Superiority, Political Extremism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potterstuck with a twist, Prejudice, Terrorism, Time Travel, genetic mutation, like the avengers but nerdier and with more crying, science!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defenseOfabsurdity/pseuds/defenseOfabsurdity
Summary: It seemed unreal, the idea of creating a universe. Something so immense and precious you couldn't possibly comprehend its importance. Not until it was already too late, and their world had been broken by your failure.Somehow, though, these fleshy, stick-wielding idiots are determined to fix it.aka "How I Learned To Start Worrying And Stop The Apocalypse"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Your memes ain't shit, kid," whispered MLG Voldeweed.
> 
> Got your attention? Good. This site doesn't have enough of these characters (especially Ron), there isn't a lot of media (like this awesome guy [http://bladekindeyewear.tumblr.com] who made this image) that emulates Homestuck's storytelling & style, and I like dissecting the wizarding world. That being said, I did this most of all for your enjoyment, so have fun {Player}! (criticism of all kinds welcome!)

****_You glanced down at the workbook on the table, grimacing slightly. The problems had been too easy again. That had been nice at first, but now that Dad had let you borrow some of his Muggle books, it was just boring. And it also meant you’d have to go back to the stuff you sucked at even faster._

_Stalling, you blankly stared at the chart of measurements at the beginning, as if you hadn’t already memorized it ages_ _ago. Meters for length, grams for mass, but…_

_“Hey, Mum?” you called out towards the kitchen, where your mother was busy cleaning the dishes._

_She turned towards you, then drew away from the sink, wringing her hands with a sigh as she stepped around the counter to answer your question. You tended to have a lot of those._

_“Oh, Ronnie dear, do you need help with the maths section too?”_

_You felt yourself hesitate at the remark. You didn’t want her to think you were bad at your best subject. But you really wanted to know!_

_“Well, kind of. You know how there are base units so you can measure stuff?”_

_“Is that what you’re having trouble with?”_

_“No! I just wanted to know what the unit for magic was. It’s not in the book.” Hand pressed insistently against the page, you looked up hopefully, only to see your mother’s face scrunched up in confusion._

_“Whatever do you mean?”_

_“I_ _mean, how do you measure magic?”_

_“Measure_ magic _?” Her lips pursed in thought. “Well it's not something you can just measure, dear, that's ridiculous! How on earth could you do that with something so… Oh, you’ll understand when you go… when you’re older, I suppose. Just focus on getting your writing legible first.”_

_“Hey, it’s not that bad!” you defended. She just laughed, as usual, ruffling your hair before briskly returning to the kitchen._ _But in her wake, doubt began to invade your thoughts._

_How could there be NO measurement? That didn’t make any sense! There were strong spells and weak spells, Squibs and wizards, so many different kinds of magic that needed either delicacy or power._

_But no way to compare them, to study them, to find every pattern and trend?_

_Then why did Hogwarts teach certain spells only to older kids? How did they decide who had enough magic and who didn’t?_

_If it didn’t matter, why weren’t you as good as everyone else?_

**ACT 1: THE MIDNIGHT CREW**

It was a bright, beautiful day that awaited the bustling crowds of Diagon Alley. A rather warm one, considering that it was late February. Perhaps, had Ron been in a better mood, he would have appreciated it.

As it was, he simply sighed, staring longingly at the sunlit window sills he passed by, and attempted to press down the jealousy pooling in his stomach. Ron may have been only (almost) nine, and maybe a _bit_ thick on occasions, but even he knew better now than to glance at the gleeful, awestruck parties of children and parents outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Not that he was any good at Quidditch, to be honest, but what kid wouldn’t want the new Nimbus model for his birthday?

Ugh, his birthday. Right. The reason he was wandering around Diagon Alley in the first place, hair dyed a hideous dull-blonde and one of Charlie’s stupid shades over his eyes. It was the same process every year: go beg Lucius for some money, haggle and argue for a while about what he would let him buy, and then, once Ron bought something “useful” he convinced his mother that someone else had bought it for him. Luckily, she never looked _too_ close at the gifts. Otherwise she might have questioned when he ever was interested in _Modern Applied Arithmancy and Mathematics,_ and how anyone he knew could afford to buy it for him.

Needless to say, Lucius would never _really_ be that nice. Somehow, Ron always ended up getting roped into some ridiculous errand during the shopping, ranging from underhanded potion trades to dealing with “special” customers at the Apothecary. The sorts of things that the illustrious Lord Malfoy couldn't be seen doing in public, and that he needed his only unsuspicious lackey to take care of. Honestly, he could’ve just asked him to do these things, but maybe the old man just wanted to mess with him (or, more than likely, remind him that they weren’t really friends).

But somehow, at the end of the day, that irritation always melted away once, and he would return to Malfoy Manor without fail. Yeah, Lucius could be rather pompous and mean-spirited, but working with him made Ron feel competent and special. Granted, special for something no self-respecting wizard would ever bother to learn, but he was hardly enough of one to even get a broom in the air most days. He needed something besides magic to survive, and Lucius was willing to offer him a place where he could _thrive_. For that, he was grateful, even if his benefactor could probably care less.

Really, if Ron didn’t know any better, he’d say the “work-related” gifts were supposed to be a reminder that _no_ , Weasley, you are not here to cure your ~~loneliness~~ boredom, or to chat with the paintings, or to beg Cissy for that fancy chocolate in the basement. Definitely not to ask how much sleep Lucius gets on the days where he jumped at almost every sound and flinched from every light. Ron was only there for business, after all, and should mind his own (even if he hopes every day he doesn’t imagine the softening of Lucius’ eyes when he can’t help but ask if he’s okay).

As he drifted past more and more packs of people together, his welling frustration started to pull him astray from the bookstores ahead. So Lucy thought he was so _clever_ , leading him to some lame chore, did he? Well, there was no way he could account for, er…

Ice cream! Okay, so maybe it wouldn’t be the most rebellious or fancy purchase, but Ron was pretty sure he was the only person around even _thinking_ about having a cold treat in the middle of winter, much less any stuffy old Malfoy contacts. It was a miracle the place was even open.

Approaching Florean Fortescue's, Ron glanced at the prices on the menu, making sure to only have a galleon or two in his hand from the seemingly-bottomless wallet in his pocket. He was rebelling, not trying to look like he just robbed a Ministry official.

“Oi, can I get a fudge sundae and, uh, that Earl Grey thing?” Ron asked. Alright, buying something for the prat probably ruined the whole point of this, but considering how obsessed Lucius was with earl grey _anything,_ optimistically he could get him to eat it with Ron in the general vicinity. Not exactly a party by anyone’s standards, but Lucius would probably tolerate his presence more if he was distracted. And couldn’t interrupt him as much, at the very least.

Thanking old man Fortescue, he moved towards a nearby wooden bench to enjoy his pity party with the ice cream while it lasted, considering it was probably the only celebration he was really going to get. Lucius would probably just tell him to not insult him with commoner food, and Ron would respond with something brash and sarcastic to distract from how much he had hoped for him to begrudgingly do it anyway. Then they would have to determine the biological molecules of some ingredient or figure out the energy transfers in a spell, squabbling endlessly over every observation.

_Just this once_ , Ron thought to himself, _I’d like someone to be thinking about_ me _on my birthday, not saving money or science experiments or--_

_BAM!_ “Ow, what the heck?!”

And suddenly Ron was nearly flattened by some pasty, dark-haired guy with… hold on, did his eyes flicker red? _Pink_? He cursed himself, looking upon his fallen sundae to mourn how his daydreaming had cost him. To be fair though, Ron had definitely not been expecting some hexed-up weirdo to assault him in broad daylight.

“You, child. Tell me where I am,” demanded the stranger breathlessly, his arms pinning themselves mercilessly to Ron’s shoulders. “It is of utmost importance that I find a safe place of residence _immediately_.”

With a closer look, his assailant looked too young to even be out of Hogwarts. Not to mention Ron could swear that he was even wearing the robes of the Hogwarts uniform, dirty and torn as they were. As embarrassing as it was, it seemed Lucius had demoted him to dealing with rebellious truants who botched their Apparitions.

“Look, mate, I know Potions class is hard, and you’re worried about NEWTs or whatev—" Ron began, then turned sharply as he sensed a gaze concentrated on him to his right.

Far across the street, slack-clad legs moved smoothly amongst the crowd, but their strange dress isn’t what caught Ron’s attention. No, it was that, despite their comparatively rapid gait, their postures were leisurely and relaxed, and they never hesitated to find gaps to move through, not even shifting to accommodate the sea of people. As if everyone around them was moving in slow motion.

A familiar feeling of dread made him catch his breath. No way, not _these_ guys, even Lucius didn’t hate Ron enough to force a confrontation. He analyzed the teenager beside him with a more critical eye, and felt his stomach drop when he saw the faint, flickering cordiform shape of his irises. The Aspect of Heart. Just his luck, this was a _psychic_. Of course, Ron considered with some arising, hysterical panic, why else would they bother hunting down some kid?

“Alright, I don’t know _what_ you did to get the attention of the bloody _Felt_ on you, but I’m going to take us somewhere _far_ away from them, so relax.”

The teen opened his mouth to say something but didn’t get the chance, as Ron abruptly stood and pushed him backward. Internally, in that brief moment, his mind raced with calculations, evaluating their motion _(linear, but on the landing possibly reciprocating)_ and the size and _momentum (mv)_ of the other boy, visualizing the plane of the place they moved towards _(slope of the surface, what is its material, how is…)_ , considering the change in the distance from sea level and friction _(μN)_ , deriving the velocity from the position and then the acceleration…

And finished stepping forward with him into an empty alleyway, surrounded by the ambient noises of traffic and urban life.

***

Leaning against a railing, Ron watched as the young man before him caught his breath, and took the time to observe their exact surroundings. He’d been aiming to get somewhere on the opposite side of London, but Kingston didn’t exactly have many places for the pair to hide. Well, they could worry about that later, once the security camera glaring down at them was taken care of.

Focusing on its attachment to the wall, Ron gradually began to manipulate the weight of the camera, being careful not to move his body and reveal to a possible watcher of anything suspicious. It began to tremble and bend slightly until a sparking _crack_ made both children jump, and Ron relaxed with relief as the device dangled from torn, overextended wires. The noise prompted the older of the pair to finish his break and turn to his “savior”.

“What was _that_?!” he demanded sharply. Right, wizard, not exactly the most technically savvy.

“It’s a security camera, it saw us teleport here, so I had to—”

“I don’t care about some useless box, I want to know why those people are attempting to shoot me down like a game animal!”

That’s what he wanted to know! But out near the middle of a crowded shopping district wasn’t exactly the best place to discuss it.

“Hey, calm down a second, will you? Once we find somewhere safe, you can ask me anything you want, but _first_ -”

“And who are you supposed to be?!”

“I was getting to that!” Ron snapped. The older boy recoiled, shoulders hunching defensively as if expecting a blow. Probably because they were both nearly murdered by a bunch of terrorists. Not exactly the best time for his normal temperament, then.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, forcing a smile onto his face. At his sides, his fingers twitched with unused adrenaline.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to, uh, go off on you there. My name is… Will, and I’m a psychic too, as you can probably tell.” He sent a mental apology to his eldest brother, noting the confused face the other made at the word _psychic_. “What’s your name?”

The teenager opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, brows furrowing. Yeah, Ron had figured he wouldn’t be quite as forthcoming.

“Honestly, if you don’t want to tell-”

“I don’t know.”

“Alright, seriously mate, I need to get you home now, just _tell_ me.”

“And I am _telling_ you that I don’t know it!”

“Well, what do you mean _you don’t know it_? It’s your name, you know, that thing people call you?”

“Thank you for the clarification, you imbecilic twit, but _you_ are the only person I can recall speaking to!”

Baffled, Ron then watched as he spastically reached into his robes to pull out a worn, leather-bound book, closing together empty pages and shoving the cover down for the shorter boy to read. _\-------- -- Tom ------- ------_. The third word seemed to have been traced over again with a quill, but the rest remained obscured and faded.

Tom, as he had dramatically introduced himself, then began to elaborate further, desperation now a bit more visible on his face.

“ _This_ is all I had with me when I woke up in… oh, wipe that look off your face, I have no idea where it was! Must I spell it out for you? _I don't know_ where I live, _I don't know_ what a psychic is, and I certainly don’t know my name. I don't know even know this belongs to me!”

He paused to breathe again, the flush on his face draining away to a dejected slump. “I am not sure that _anything_ belongs to me.”

“Wow, uh, Tom. That sucks.” Geez, what do you even _say_ to that? “But, don’t worry about it! After we find a place to stay, I can take you to Ma- uh, somewhere safe, and then you can get your memories restored!” That might have been a bit of a stretch on the latter part - as if anything involving the Felt could be so simple - but it was worth it for the hopeful (but still sort of stoic) expression it received.

Finally, _finally_ , he could help another psychic without having to take on a squad of Aurors! Or take on anybody, thank Merlin. The hardest part of this would probably be getting the poor guy to cheer up a bit, assuming he could figure out exactly where they needed to go.

Speaking of which, Ron had nearly forgotten about the earl grey and lavender twist he was carrying. Might as well give it to someone who’d appreciate it, even if Tom wasn’t much of an earl grey type. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the circular, Anti-Melting container and thrust it forwards.

“That reminds me! Do you like, or, uh, think you might like ice cream? We might not be able to get food too soon, and you probably haven’t eaten in a while.” Tom just stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, tentatively removing the dessert from small fingertips as Ron nudged it towards him. What a suspicious guy, honestly.

“I— thank you, Will. Or whatever your actual name is.” Darn. Ron knew he was a bad liar, but he couldn’t even fool an amnesiac? Before he could justify himself, Tom cut him off. “You mentioned that any further discussion would be somewhere safer, correct? I would prefer that those _people_ do not catch up with us.” Catch up? Even if they _were_ still chasing them for whatever reason, they were like several kilometers away, and it’s not like teleportation was easy to trace.

Not that he wanted to test that anytime soon.

“Oh, right. Well, we could go to, um…” Come on, think! Taking a random stranger home wasn’t really an option, and the Manor was definitely full of people right now. But in the meantime, something temporary would do well enough.

“A hotel! Yeah, we can rent a room somewhere cheap and quiet.” Alright, this rescuing stuff was easy!

“So _where_ are we heading?”

Okay, so he hadn’t gotten that far yet. Whatever, it was London, there were hotels pretty much everywhere, they’d run into one eventually.

“Let’s try... that way.” Ron pointed towards the left side of the alleyway. “That should take us away from the shopping district and towards a few places to stay if we walk for a bit.”

With that flawless plan in mind, Tom nodded and began to confidently stride almost instinctively in that direction until remembering that the other was the leader. Sheepishly stopping to wait, he was startled when a small hand wrapped around his own to drag him through the crowded street.

***

Despite Tom’s more practical and cautious attitude, his curiosity seemed to overpower it as he riddled Ron with questions about nearly every part of the London area, from the cars to the stores to the clothes people wore. Not that he minded; it was sort of endearing to see the elder’s face screwed up in focus or (rarely) slack in open wonderment. It reminded him that Tom really was seeing all these things for the first time, free of the prejudices of wizarding society and willing to learn about a world that Ron had never thought he would get to share. Sure, he’d be equally interested in magic (even if the teen seemed to retain some familiarity with it), but for now, the conversation also distracted them from more discrete topics.

It also gave him ample time to swipe a wallet or two by “tripping up” unsuspecting people who looked similar to Tom, if not slightly older, and could provide them with identification. Ron certainly didn’t look old enough to rent a room anywhere, and he didn’t have anything but galleons. Sure, stealing wasn’t exactly ideal, but he had a feeling puppy dog eyes wouldn’t quite do the trick.

“But what is the _point_ of such a place?” Tom asked, peering from under his borrowed shades (he had more noticeable features, after all) into a building full of people engaged with towering, colorful machines. _A video arcade_ , Ron recalled upon closer inspection.

“Well, you see those box things? If you put money in it, you can play a game of some kind where you pretend to do something. Most of them are kind of violent, ‘cept the new handheld ones.”

“Why would anyone want to simulate violence?” Whoops. Ron wasn’t trying to give him a bad impression of Mug- _non-magical people,_ much less that they were that aggressive.

“Well, not violent, exactly, but they can be real intense. You should see some of the fighting ones, it’s super fun to watch when the players are good!”

Tom snorted. “Right, because there is nothing more exciting than watching someone _pretend_ to do something. How fitting that you are so entranced by it.” His words were delivered critically, and his face remained apathetic, but the lack of bite he had come to expect was… nice.

Before he could make a brilliant retort, Ron halted the bickering to turn around and glance at the sign of an unsuspecting inn ( _3.048 m_ ) behind him. This place looked perfect! He couldn’t imagine the dingy rooms having much in the way of surveillance, not to mention a pub is an unlikely place to look for a bunch of kids. Plus, they served food, so no matter what, it couldn’t be a total loss.

A few minutes and a surprisingly smooth impersonation later, William and Eric Thompson shambled up the stairs to their room, the former attempting to ignore the distracting, _captivating_ scent of food below. There were more important matters to take care of first (even if “Eric” had to basically drag him up the stairs).

After Ron carefully scanned the room and locked the door with a soft _click_ , he sat down at a table across from a pair of beds. Tom was already seated with an impatient air around him, sunglasses tapping in his hand against the arm of his chair. Turning to face him, Ron found it difficult not to feel a bit intimidated. Even with such a youthful appearance, his severe manner and unusual eyes certainly added to that effect, but not nearly as much as a refined posture that seemed almost _predatory_. Not aggressive, though, and that was what mattered. Anything else could be chalked up to training or habit, as wizards in the political, pureblood elite began cultivating that sort of aura as a natural response rather early. At least, that seemed to be the case.

His musings were then interrupted. “So. I would imagine you have some sort of explanation prepared for the situation at hand. For the sake of efficiency, tell me as much as you can, and then I can ask anything specific that remains.”

What, did he think Ron was a secret agent or something? Great, he must have a baby-politician on his hands. At least it couldn’t hurt for him to think to trust him a bit more, coolness-factor not included.

“So, I guess since you don’t know anything for _sure_ , I’ll start from the most basic stuff. Not because I’m talking down to you—”

“I’m _well_ aware of that, but thank you for your consideration.” _Cheeky git._ He probably thought Ron used that line on all the psychics.

“Alright, so you know about magic, obviously. Everybody does. It can do pretty much anything, and there are loads of ways to use it, like brewing potions or casting spells. What most people don’t know, is that magic isn’t… the only ability wizards can be born with.”

“Elaborate.”

“Well, psychic powers are a bit like a mutation, sorta? They can do the same things way easier, and the scope of them is pretty much limitless, depending on a person’s Aspect.” Before Tom could ask, Ron leaned to his side to grab the pen and paper on the dresser by his seat. “Hold on a second, I’ll explain that, it just makes more sense written out.”

It was lucky for Tom that he had this beaten into his head, a lesson he was carefully trying to replicate with Lucius’ neat, precise handwriting. He certainly failed, but it helped.

_What Lucy’s probably looked like lol_

“Okay, an _Aspect_ is a part of existence that’s literal and abstract. So, Mind obviously is thoughts and decisions, and Heart is the opposite, ‘cause it’s about emotions instead of logic. But they’re both different ways for someone to act and think.”

“So an Aspect is akin to an element, or a manner of existing.”

“Uh, sure. Anyway, psychics can only use one Aspect, but not everyone uses it the same way. It sort of depends on what kind of person you are. Like, somebody who’s always running out of Time could take it from others or slow it down, and a mysterious person could use Void to… hide, I guess?” Crap, he _sucked_ at theory stuff. He could already feel himself getting a bit mixed up, and this was relatively basic.

“Then your powers are related to Breath?”

“Oh, no.” Seeing Tom frown, he peered at the definition below Breath. _Direction_. Or, in his companion’s mind, teleportation. Bluh, he hated how complicated this chart could be. “Breath is more like something that directs you, like motivation, or wind if you’re thinking literally. Space is how you would, um, move through space.”

“So then what interpretation of it are you using, in order to transport yourself?” Finally, a question he could answer properly.

“Well, Space is talking about matter, so to change it, you got to fix the numbers. I mean, measurements.” A blank stare. “You know, mass, distance, volume…” Tom nodded, indicating that the other psychic probably shut up about lame, _ordinary_ things. Figures.

“And what of my Aspect? I recall you mentioning earlier that it was fitting for someone of Heart to have superior tastes.” Yeah right. If he had good taste, Ron was Harry Potter.

“Besides representing _cheesy losers_ , Heart is the Aspect of the soul or instinct,” Tom looked somewhat intrigued. “—but usually means drives like emotion and courage.” And promptly deflated. “Hey, being brave and nice is a good thing!”

“But _anyone_ can have those attributes,” Tom complained. “Don’t these abilities have more potential than that?”

“Not everyone has “powers”, you know,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “Sometimes people are just _really_ connected with an Aspect, or know a lot about it.” In that way, Lucius always said that everyone was a psychic. Or maybe he was practicing his lines for some future political campaign. 

His words were dismissed with a wave. “Regardless, these powers are quite coveted, then, if they are so rare and powerful. Would that mean the Felt desires to use them for their own ends?”

“Heck no, didn’t you hear when I said psychics are mutants? It’s usually seen as a sign of creature blood or, worse, _Dark magic_. Most people would think of my teleportation as me being part House Elf! The last thing anyone wants around is a half-breed or a possible Death Eater.” The inquisitive look on Tom’s face melted away as he ranted, morphing into an expression of incredulity. Perhaps Ron should have approached that topic a bit more diplomatically.

“So people with superior and unique capabilities, and also advanced knowledge, are considered as undesirable monsters? Welcomers of death? That is _absolutely_ ridiculous.” _Welcomers of Death?_ Oh, Death Eaters. He’d forgotten that Tom was the only wizard in Britain who wasn’t aware of You-know-Who’s reign of terror. Ron wasn’t sure if that was fortunate or not, considering how he would have to learn about it now.

“It’s… not as ridiculous as you might think,” he said uneasily. “Just a few years ago, there was this really evil wizard, a Dark Lord, and the Death Eaters were his followers. They tried to take over Britain and kill everyone without magic.” _And blood traitors._

“And now all psychics are associated with him by default? Because of their shared connection to Dark magic?”

“Er, no. There _were_ loads of them on his side, even in his Inner Circle. They all seemed to think they were some kind of ‘superior wizards’, and they ended up being the most fanatical followers, like the Lestranges or...” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Sirius Black.” And therein lies the crux of the psychic question, so to speak.

It would be one thing if the more famous minority (including the Dark Lord himself, if one believed any current rumors) was misrepresenting them. But when there’s _maybe_ a couple dozen psychics in Britain without a criminal record, he and Tom included, it’s easy to understand why they have such a bad reputation. Especially among those who had fought against the Death Eaters, and most of the current government.

Including the Weasley family.

Ron could remember, with icy clarity, hearing his parents at the breakfast table not long ago, reading the bolded headline of a sweet-faced young woman caught using “illegal magics” when applying to Hogwarts for the DADA position:

_“Molly, dear, it’s nothing to worry about. Can you imagine Professor Dumbledore not being able to spot a Dark wizard right away? There’s no chance of any of them getting_ _close to our children.”_ _The photo on the Daily Prophet cringed at his words, her face drawn and fearful._

_“Oh, I know that! It’s just a bit… worrying to consider, sometimes, that these_ monstrous _people could still be around every corner. Even after all this time.”_

He’d quietly fled the table rather upset (he already knew he wasn’t going to Hogwarts, but _come on_ ), but more concerned on whether or not his parents had noticed the terrified, deer-in-headlights look on his face. It’s a good thing they hadn’t; Ron wasn’t sure what would happen if it was revealed to them that he had a mutation. Or worse, to his siblings. Sure, he was frustrated by the unfairness of being arrested or taken away (not that he couldn’t escape), but that was by strangers who didn’t know him. But would his family treat him the same way as everyone else?

Shaking _that_ depressing thought, Ron continued with his current one before Tom could argue. “Look, we both know that we didn’t do anything wrong. But a lot of other psychics _did,_ and like it or not they set the standard. Changing anyone’s mind right now is too risky, so we just have to be patient, and hope it goes back to normal eventually. Just keep to yourself, buy some _really good_ contacts, and you should be fine.”

His friend was quiet, for a moment, and Ron resisted the urge to apologize. It wouldn’t help to sugarcoat the matter, that was just the way things were. Anyone who thought otherwise tended to be convinced, one way or another.

“What about the Felt, then? What purpose do they serve? And _why_ were they after me?” That’s where the Space manipulator was stumped. Influential “mutants”, revolutionaries, politicians: _those_ were the kinds of targets they chose. Not brooding teenagers, regardless of potential. Any chance of knowing why Tom was so important as to be hunted was lost with…

_His memories,_ of course! “They’re some small vigilante group that takes out powerful people, not just psychics. Most people don’t even know they exist, and no one really knows why they do it, besides to create as much chaos as possible. But you’re just a kid, and don’t really fit the bill as far as capability or powerful items go, so the only thing you _could_ have that they would want is—”

“Information.” A pregnant pause enveloped the room for a moment, until Tom completed the thought, eyes wide. “You believe that I, or someone else, may have purposely erased my memories to prevent the Felt from learning something of value.” A _something of value_ probably regarding that potential _someone else_ , either a close relation or some… Death Eater cousin, maybe. Ron felt it was safe to assume his acquaintance was from some poncey pureblood family, at this point.

“Uh, pretty much. With the Aspect of Heart, I don’t think anyone would imagine you as being Dark Lord material. Someone close to you, on the other hand…” Which was probably the only upside to Tom’s current situation. Even if his abilities became well developed, they would likely be unnoticeable.

“Enough _speculation_ ,” Tom interjected. “It is entirely useless unless my memories are returned, or we have a chance to investigate the matter.”

“What? No, it isn’t! Don’t you want to know what happened to you, or what the Felt might want you for?” Ron asked hotly. He instantly regretted the words, though, as Tom began to flush angrily. _Asking an amnesiac if they want their memories back, nice move Weasley._

“Don’t be absurd, of course I do!” he exclaimed with frustration. “But all this will accomplish is making us jump to unfounded conclusions that ensure we find out the _hard way.”_

That made Ron pause to think a bit further. It _would_ be nice to know all that stuff, but unless they had some more evidence, guesswork alone would just lead them astray. And it seemed to also make the other a bit overwhelmed and… nervous?

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry. I just...” Ron felt the words caught in his throat, ears burning slightly as he glanced away. “I just thought it’d help. I wasn’t trying to scare you or anything.” And yet, all he’d done so far was tell Tom how frightening and _horrible_ the world was. Why did he always open his big mouth—

A sharp pinch on his arm disrupted the thought. “Ow, hey! What was that for, I was saying sorry!”

Tom rolled his eyes at the reaction and leaned back into his seat. “The only thing I would be _scared_ of is your lack of foresight.” Before continuing, as he hesitantly eyed the younger’s still-flustered appearance, a strange expression crossed his face. “But I… _appreciate_ the sentiment.” he forced out.

While that sounded like a message on a store-bought card, the obvious effort made it feel sincere. _I guess that’s supposed to mean “apology accepted”?_

After that declaration, an awkward silence descended upon the room, and Ron began to shift uncomfortably under the teenager’s now-distant gaze. It seemed as if he had finally run out of questions, or at least the current topic had discouraged them. Without any conversation to distract him, the smaller boy felt hunger gnawing intensely at him, but what was he going to say? _Hey, I know you’re having a bit of a crisis right now, but mind if we get some food?_

Luckily, Ron’s stomach answered for him, the low grumble bringing redness back into his cheeks. It also snapped Tom from his stupor, which prompted him to release a breath he’d been tensely holding. He definitely would have said something stupid, if he had to break the tense atmosphere himself.

“Okay, I know you probably want to know more, but nothing else is really all that sensitive and you already seem to know about magic and they’ve got brownies here—”

“Fine, we can eat now.”

With that, Tom gracefully stood from his seat and placed his shades over his eyes, while Ron practically burst from his chair and raced towards the door, slipping the page he wrote on into his pocket. He was definitely glad to be escaping the discussion, and not just because he was starving.

“I am holding you to the _non-sensitive_ information, Will,” he heard from behind him as he hurriedly unlocked the door. He wondered what sort of things he would even _want_ to ask about while eating until he came to the obvious realization.

“Wait, this is going to be your first real meal! Don’t worry, I’ll tell you about everything that’s on the menu, except for some of the American stuff like burgers because I’ve never had them…” The incessant, hunger-driven chatter continued as the pair descended to the restaurant area. As they passed, the other patrons of the pub watched bemusedly as a strangely-dressed boy dashed towards the eatery followed unenthusiastically by his “brother”, all the while proclaiming the excellence of fudge cake and apple crumble.

***

Ron groaned as he stumbled through the doorway, flopping onto the nearest bed. Unfortunately for him, the jerky movement revived the nauseating flavour of brownies, ice cream, cookie dough, _chocolate_...

His stomach churned sickeningly, the sweet taste in his mouth now with a sour tinge. Alright, sue him, maybe ordering nothing but - nearly every - dessert wasn’t exactly a brilliant plan. But the look on Tom’s face had been _so_ worth it, both in trying everything the younger ordered and watching in disgusted awe as he actually ate all of it.

Now, though, a growing smirk decorated his face with satisfaction, as if to say _I told you so_.

“Well now, don’t you seem quite satisfied? I must admit, I had my doubts, but now I certainly feel quite foolish for not following such sound advice—” Tom gloated, avoiding a complimentary peppermint tossed half-heartedly in his direction.

“Ugh, shut up, you’re the one who dared me to do it, you prat. At least I wasn’t a _chicken_.”

“Just an idiot, then, what an improvement.” Well, Ron wouldn’t deny that, but it would be too hard to explain the importance of not being a wimp to someone without a horde of siblings to make fun of them.

He tried to form a witty retort, but now that the uneasy grumbling of his stomach had settled into a pleasant fullness, the soft warmth of the bed clouded his thoughts as he leaned heavily against a large feather pillow.

Only to receive a rude awakening from a sharp poke to the stomach.

“Ouch! Why do you have to keep freaking hurting me, you jerk!” He glared at the annoyed face now only _15.604_ centimeters to his left. Seriously, anyone else would have just shaken his shoulder or something. He hadn’t even been asleep!

“Maybe it's because you decided to have a nap instead of telling me where you plan on taking me! If I’m not mistaken, I distinctly remember a promise of bringing me to someone capable of restoring my memories, or at least a place that is _actually secure_.”

Honestly, he was acting as if Ron had forgotten all about helping him, just because he closed his eyes for two seconds. Even if he was right about them needing to figure out their next move now.

Blearily rubbing his face, he sat up next to his disgruntled partner and began to tap his fingers thoughtfully against his cheek.

Going home was obviously out of the question. His parents would just send the “wandering stranger” to the Ministry or Hogwarts to figure out who he was, which would become a free ticket to Azkaban once they realized _what_ he was. Not to mention, once Tom was arrested, it wouldn’t even take a half-rate Legilimency check for his rescuer to get busted as well. As worried as his parents might get, he’d prefer being grounded any day.

The only option they really had was Malfoy Manor. It was secure, well-provided, and Lucius definitely wouldn’t risk getting all three of them exposed, even if he might not bother _helping_ the amnesiac (unless he got Narcissa to bug him about it). And sure, that was an issue, but only if they could even manage to _get in_. Even when the estate wasn’t constantly bustling with activity, its defences were as cruel and complicated as one would expect of such an ancient and powerful family. As such, when having to account for both visitors and the ridiculous wards, each trip required some forethought and planning.

In other words, they could either kill themselves getting in now unexpectedly, or wait until tomorrow to enter normally. Felt or no, he figured Tom would prefer the idea not involving near-instant death.

“So I have good news... and I have bad news.” That earned him a hard stare, followed by the dark-haired boy pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Tell me the bad news first, I suppose.” Why did people always say that? The “bad news” was pretty much always a drawback to the good news!

“Well, I do know of a place we can go, but... not ‘til tomorrow morning.”

“Why? And why can we not simply go to where _you_ live?” Yeah, he’d been hoping that he wouldn’t have to answer that.

“Well, it’s really, _really_ well-protected, and I’m not supposed to be there until morning, so if we teleport there, the wards will activate. I can avoid ‘em, but probably not while helping you.” A long pause accompanied by a _look_ compelled him to fully answer the question. Sure, he could lie and say he was orphaned or homeless, but the thought of making up something so severe brought forth a twinge of guilt.

“Fine! My family hates psychics, okay?” Tom’s eyes narrowed. “No, I mean, they like _me_ , but not other people who are, y’know, like _that_. So they would probably turn you in.”

“... I see,” said the other boy, looking a bit taken aback. “Is that why you use an alias? Because of your family?”

“Uh, yeah. They don’t want me doing anything “weird” or hanging around other weirdos, but it's not exactly hard for me to sneak out.” Although that could be plausible if his family knew about his mutation, it felt so _wrong_ speaking about his parents as if they mistreated him. He knew they loved him more than anything. Just not all of him.

It was probably time to get back to the topic at hand, anyway, unless he wanted to answer any more personal questions. “So, you feel good about staying here for a night?”

“If that really is the only option.” Suspicious eyes shifted uneasily towards the doorway. “But may I suggest at least one of us be awake at all times?”

“What, like be on watch?” He nearly rolled his eyes at the suggestion - he liked to sleep more than an hour at a time, thank you very much - but, well, if it made them feel a bit more comfortable, then it couldn’t hurt. Worst comes to worst, they’re a bit tired and cranky in the morning, but he’d prefer that over terrified.

“Precisely,” he said, then glanced down at his partner. “I can take the first shift if you would like.” Well, too late for that, the conversation had left him wide awake. Not to mention…

“Nah, are you kidding, we haven’t even checked the TV out yet!” No reaction. “It’s like the thing we saw earlier, with the movie on it?” Now Tom looked intrigued, but in the distant, sophisticated way one looks when disguising a love for crappy rom-coms.

Ron grabbed the black, rectangular object from the nightstand, and began tapping any colorful button he saw. “No, not that one… come on, I asked the desk people, they said this would— there!” He said, pressing _POWER_ at last _._ As he did, a sharp static noise buzzed from the television, and human-shaped images began to blur into existence.

“ _I have to say, Desdemona, it looks like there’s going to be a wonderful forecast for the rest of the week...”_ Seriously, all that for the weather? He tossed the controller aside. All of a sudden sleep sounded appealing, if not inevitable.

“Sorry, guess this one only has news,” Ron said, a yawn worked itself from his mouth as he leaned back into the pillows.

There was no response. Tom seemed to be clinging to every new word from the newscaster. It made something in his chest hurt a bit, watching an anxious face bathed in blue light try to absorb anything he could to fill the void of his mind.

Eventually, though, his alert posture became more pliant, and he shifted seamlessly over to the other bed, rosy eyes never breaking their incisive scrutiny of the screen. Without a distraction at his side, it did not take much longer for Ron to let sleep overtake him.

***

_"Move!” someone at his side shouted, and an unfamiliar heaviness pulled him towards the ground. He felt something fly past the spot his head had been._

_Quickly scrambling to his feet, he noticed Will grab try to his hand and push him, only for the sidewalk under their feet to crack. It nearly made him lose his balance._

_“I don’t_ — _what’s going on? Why does weird stuff keep happening when I want to teleport?” His hands began to shake against his robes, icy blue eyes blown wide with panic. His expression was painfully fragile._

_"Don’t worry about it now, we have to_ go!” _The roads were still dark, though the streetlights had begun to awaken. Glancing into the other’s mind - he still wasn’t sure how he could do that - he saw the direction where they initially came from and faced the opposite side decisively. Together, they began to run away from the inn, their harsh breaths visible in the cold._

_Tom was so sick of running. But as another metallic shape came from the darkness and shattered the concrete near them, he knew there was no other option._

_Finally, he turned a corner and pulled the child towards him, adrenaline pumping through his body. “Do you have a destination in mind?” Anything besides aimless fleeing, unless they wanted to die. The mere thought made his heart seize._

_"I don’t know_ !” _Will choked, teary-eyed. The eerie silence behind them was haunting. “Look,” he paused, gasping for breath. “for something open, a person wandering around, something! Just keep_ going! _”_

_“Anything? Well, then today must be your lucky day.” The invisible voice made his companion squeak. Feeling a prickling sensation on his neck, he instinctively glanced upwards to a figure looking down at them from an apartment balcony._

_Black suit, dark shades, and a strange hat bearing the symbol of a clover. A member of the Felt._

_From where they just came from, another, much larger person approached, the strange shape in his hand had its end pointed at the ground. Will had called it a gun._

_“Aw, are you crying already?” A sharp laugh made him tightly clench the younger boy’s hand, positioning himself in from of him. “Don’t worry, little one, we’re not here for you. You’re just a bonus.” Heavy footsteps continued their march towards them._

_Until Will pointed from behind him, and the large man seemed to crumble under the weight of his idle weapon. In his palm, several large golden coins from his pocket began to lengthen and sharpen to form a pointed edge. A few of them were pressed insistently into the teen’s hand._

_“If you want him, you’ll have to g-go through me, you arsehole!”_

_Unbeknownst to Will, the conversation was a perfect distraction. “Through a tiny, harmless boy? Well, I’m just shaking in my_ — _” He tilted his head, as the knife once in Tom’s hand grazed a dimpled cheek. He cursed internally, watching the slight man’s face darken._

_“My, my, it’s sure convenient the light caught your blade.” The whimsical tone was absent, now replaced with menace. His leather-clad hands reached down to his hip, pulling out a small gun that shone ominously under the moonlight. “And after I was so polite. Sawbuck, let’s hurry and take care of these unfortunate young boys, shall we?”_

_His slacks clacked against the metal stairway from the balcony as he descended. The burly man - Sawbuck - began out struggle out from beneath his metal equipment, growling out an irritated “fuck off, Clover”._

_Will quickly stepped in front of him as the clover-bearing man pointed his gun towards them. While watching, Tom could hear him mentally calculating the path of the bullet, his eyes attentively watching the weapon fire until it reached his awaiting hand and was transported away. In the same motion, his hand gestured towards the stairs, which started to bend under and over their attacker._

_But it didn’t even make him falter. He darted towards a staircase, deftly leaping over the top steps and landing deliberately on a lower, wobbly platform. As he fell neatly to the ground, the rest of the stairs began to fall and collapse._

_Somehow, none of the metal crashing down even touched him, and every piece directly above him seemed to have stayed in place. Determined, Tom threw another transformed coin in hopes of slowing him down, only for one of the stairs above Clover to finally collapse and improbably deflect it back towards him._

_Both of them hurriedly jumped out of its path, and he could feel the shorter boy’s surprised reaction as they saw the knife impale the wall behind them. Tom’s mind raced to try and work out the Felt member’s technique, but when he tried entering the other’s thoughts, he slammed into a barrier of nothingness._

_Now that he could see Clover’s weapon clearly, Will waved his hand at the silent gun, but it remained stubbornly in gloved fingers._

_His failure received a smirk. “Oh, my apologies, it seems I decided to wear my enchanted Strengthening Gloves today! I suppose there goes your best plan.”_

_He looked at Tom with no little amusement. “If only your hapless second could help you.” If he was trying to rile him into action, he would be sorely disappointed. He wasn’t blind to his weakness or lack of magic, and at least being underestimated could have its advantage. Provided that he survived long enough to use it._

_A movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn and see Sawbuck was now standing behind them. They were surrounded now._

_Tom’s fist whitened around his dagger, shifting his body to have both of enemies clearly visible. Will shakily followed suit, sweat beading down his forehead. All four of them silently assessed each other, the whistle of cold wind the only sound in the alley._

_Until Clover interrupted the strained silence. “Ah, is this your first time duelling, little one? How cute. In case you weren’t sure...” His left hand now encased a revolver as well, both guns moving to face them threateningly. “This is the part where you give up. If you’re lucky enough, we might only kill you_. _”_

_The psychic of Heart smirked down at his frightened companion as convincingly as possible, summoning his last remnants of confidence. “Really now? And what are you going to do if we don’t? Waste the rest of your ammunition?”_

_The statement had its intended effect, as Will seemed to brighten a bit. “Y-Yeah, go ahead, shoot! I’ll see every bullet coming before you_ — _”_

_Without wasting a moment, he moved seamlessly into the path of two more projectiles. Now that Tom was facing him directly, his body had assumed that position with unnatural speed. That must be why he had begun to shake so badly. Judging from his thoughts, he wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer._

_Keeping Will’s focus on the bullets, he faced the other hit-man and flung a cutter in his direction to force him away. Instead, a large hand caught the golden object out of the air and began to stalk towards him. He threw another one desperately, but it seemed to bounce off the man’s broad chest._

_Thankfully, the electric box on the wall fell onto his massive foot, earning a startled yelp from Sawbuck and causing him to drop his new weapon. Will’s knees began to wobble right after, and Tom wanted to shake and embrace him in equal measure._

_Another several clicks, another blade. They were running out of time. All they had left to hope for is that the Felt ran out first._

_Over Tom’s shoulder, Clover tutted to himself lightly. “Oh dear, you seem to have wasted most of my bullets, how impressive.” He sounded far too happy. “It seems we will have to make my last shot count, won’t we, Saw?”_

_He grunted in response, and somehow a blade Tom threw ended up bouncing off the brick wall into Sawbuck’s open hand. “Don’t call me that, you crazy gold fucker.”_

_The “gold fucker” simply giggled, even as Will used his break from the assault to make the surface he stood on look as if it might shatter. A hop and a skip later, and he stood on one of the fallen stairs before them, pressing the pair into an even tighter space once Sawbuck began towards them yet again._

_Will was glancing between them, deliriously trying to anticipate their next move. In a brief moment of eye contact, Tom attempted to mentally convey an image of safety - a mansion with elaborate gardens and towering hedges - and was reassured to see colour return to his round face. Perhaps the odds were against them, but he knew they could still win. And in order to succeed, they both had to believe it._

_With a lumbering step, Sawbuck planted his left foot forward, flicking the knife he held with a sloppy twist of his wrist. Will - who figured it would miss from the angle of the throw - didn’t even flinch as the blade shot right past their faces, and slid into the firearm’s line of fire. Aiming his last shot between them, the man’s razor-edged smile never wavered as the bullet flew towards an awaiting hand._

_It never came, and the alleyway was filled with the sound of ricocheting lead. For a single moment, Tom was filled with overwhelming relief, until he finally realized what Clover had been aiming for._

_And watched in belated horror as the knife was shot backwards, straight through Will’s heaving chest._

_Everything seemed to freeze at the sickening squelch of skin. The boy seemed confused for a second, as his quivering hands dropped to the side. But once he looked down at the blood dripping from the crevice dug into his heart, Tom stumbled forward to catch him,_ _hold him,_ _anything to stop him from dying, he can’t die, oh god, this can’t be happening._

_Will was starting to panic again, his breath coming out in tiny, weak gasps that made Tom’s stomach twist. He tried to offer a comforting thought , but winced as it was buried under a torrent of pain and fear. Helplessness began to claw at his insides, as he reached down inside himself for_ **_magic, come on, I know it’s there, let me use it!_**

_“Well isn’t this just heartbreaking? Poor mutant freaks.” Tom didn’t bother wasting his breath on responding with a curse or a threat_ **_for touching what is mine_ ** _and looked closer at his injured companion._

_His eyes were watering, the spark in them now barely visible. “I… I’m sorry, Tom, I couldn’t do it, I lost, we’re…” Blood dripped from his mouth, making him choke slightly._

_“I’m g-gonna die,” Will whimpered._

_“No.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “You’re going to be fine. Just don’t… don’t close your eyes!” he shouted, fingers grasping at Will like a lifeline, as if that could keep him alive._

_“Sorry.” Tom felt something twist in his chest when he heard another choke, and tried to wipe the blood away._

_Until burly arms hoisted him back, one around his waist and another with a sharp point held to his throat. He struggled against the powerful hold, even when the blade began to slice into his chin._

_Without any support, Will landed heavily on the ground, and now laid under Clover’s slender shadow, just within the reach of its dark tendrils._

_“Enough playtime. Time to put these creatures out of their misery.” He reached down to the prone form at his feet delicately, covered Will’s mouth, and swiftly pulled the knife out. Behind the glove, he screamed._

_So did Tom. “You cowardly bastard, don’t touch him! Will!” Sawbuck shoved a hand over his mouth as well. He tried glaring a hole through him instead._ **_I’ll kill you, I swear I’ll kill you..._**

_Ignoring him, Clover frowned with disgust and shook the blade slightly, painting the wall behind him red and brought the knife to his victim’s face. Something ugly and black (and oh-so-familiar) began to make Tom’s blood boil._ **_I’ll tear into every vulnerable piece of you and make you beg for your life..._**

_“Here we are, little one! Can’t say I didn’t tell you so. Any last words?” Will now had his eyes shut, and seemed to hardly move or breath. The hatred pulsing under his skin spread like an infection at the sight. It was intoxicating. Overwhelming. Powerful._

_“How disappointing. But, even people like you deserve better than to bleed to death. Goodbye then!” He shoved the knife back—_

**_Magic._ **

_Only to let out a pained screech as the metal began to melt into his skin. Molten gold nearly razed Clover’s naked flesh as it burned through his glove, bringing about another hoarse yell that fed Tom’s dark satisfaction. Oh, but he wouldn’t be the only one to suffer._

_Focusing on his other captor, he concentrated once more on that pool of anger in his stomach, picturing that he would_ **_sear every insignificant molecule of his pathetic husk until he could no longer manage to scream._**

_And fell over as Sawbuck dropped him abruptly, trying to put out the malevolent green flames that began to try and engulf his bulky arms. As he seemed sufficiently distracted, Tom turned his attention back to his front, gleefully noting that Clover had not been lucky enough this time to avoid damage to his skin._

_But when he looked to the ground, Will wasn’t moving anymore._

_Tom just stared at him - at the corpse. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, there was hysterics and screaming. A foreign, unspeakable sort of emptiness that put him at a loss for words, drowning out the start of Sawbuck’s incineration. But he buried it, used it to fuel hate and revenge and the desire_ **_to rip their Hearts out and MAKE. THEM._**

…pay?

“Oh my god, Tom, what the heck did you do that for! It’s just the TV!” _The TV?_

Right, the TV. The television. The newscasting and entertainment device. The object he had just lit on fire, sitting innocuously on the dresser in front of the bed he was… sitting on? _What?_

This was a dream. Perhaps he was dead. In any case, he was clearly losing his mind (again), hallucinating a memory of the room at the inn. That was the only logical explanation for how he was here ( _again_ ). And yet, everything seemed so _tangible_ , the exact texture of the blankets, the dying light of the setting sun, the foreign scent of smoke now lingering in the air.

But if this was real…

He whipped his head to the origin of an _achingly irritating_ voice…

*** 

And was now staring at Ron, white as a sheet and mouth hanging open.


	2. Chapter 2

_And was now staring at Ron, white as a sheet._

Sheesh, the TV must have really scared him, which explained that bit of accidental magic. But, that _feeling_ in it…

Eh, he could worry about that later, once all of the hazards in the room - emotional and physical - were taken care of. Preferably in that order, before the rest of the furniture was set on fire.

“Uh, Tom? You doing okay?” The empty stare persevered, containing a swirl of emotions he couldn’t quite place. Alright, it was time to hurry this up a bit.

He kicked back the thick covers, mourning the loss of warmth as his feet hit the carpet. Hands digging into the worn hem of his robes, he took gradual steps around the rippling waves of heat. The other remained oblivious, even as he observed him uneasily from the edge of the bed.

“Tom? Come on, say something, will you?” Ron said, crossing his arms with a huff. “And quit it with the creepy look, I’m not a ghost!” 

_That_ got a reaction. Blank eyes came to life in a flicker of pink.

“And neither is anyone on the TV, I told you they were recorded-”

As if possessed, Tom jerked forward, pulling them so close that the shorter boy could see himself in the iris hearts aimed right at his own. The deranged gaze made him flinch back, too startled to shift out of the shaky grip.

“You…” Tom gasped, fingers ghosting over the area just beneath his collarbone. He shivered at the touch, soreness pressed further into his chest. “It’s gone.”

“...what?”

“The knife! The one that, that _man_...” Almost instinctively, Ron glanced down at that spot and blinked owlishly. It remained un-stabbed.

The teen’s brows creased, mirroring his own, before slackening. “You don’t remember.”

“Uh, I think I’d remember if I got stabbed. You forget about nightmares, too?” Ron forced him back on the mattress with a small bounce. “Well, they’re not real. No crazy knife guys under the bed, promise. Back to sheep counting for you, yeah?”

His lopsided smile offered no comfort. Tom ignored his words in favor of boring his eyes into the digital clock on the nightstand. It blinked back at him placidly.

“Three hours, three hours…” he muttered, eyes darting around the room wildly. Ron’s breath caught.

Thankfully, nothing exploded. “I know this may sound implausible, but you must listen to me. It will not be long until two members of the Felt- ”

“I already told you, there’s no way they can get us,” he said, fidgeting. Working in pairs _was_ typical of them. And he had known his chest was ‘injured’, even if it was just a little bruise. Were those strange eyes a sign of Sight?

“They already have!” Guess not. “And they will if you don’t-”

The flames began to crackle a bit louder.

“Can you shut up for a second!” Cutting off the rest of the nonsense, he jabbed his thumb to the _obvious priority_. “If you hadn’t noticed, the room’s on fire. So just let me— Ugh, let go!”

Even with another insistent tug, Tom’s hands didn’t budge. “Were you even listening to me? There are time-traveling psychopaths out for our blood!”

“They can wait until we put out the giant fire in front of us!”

“If it was so drastic, you would have put it out first. We need to focus on leaving!”

“And let every other person here just burn up based on some dream you had?”

“Someone else can take do it. _You_ need to get as far from here as possible!” Ron’s eye twitched. Could anyone be more of an apathetic prick?

Giving up on reason, he leaned away from anxious hands, and - _gravity equals mg, change in position is about 1.89 meters -_

“No, you idiot! Clo—” A crackling snap, and a massive flare of heat to his right. Ron only had a moment to pull them both down and further from the source before the room burst into chaotic sparks.

Smoke aimlessly floated in the air, alongside a mind-numbing, rhythmic shriek that nearly toppled him back over. He waved them away and rubbed his eyes. They refocused on a charred television, the outlet now choking out little discharges.

While numbly observing the room - _an electrical explosion, what are the odds_ \- a heavy pressure on his shoulder made him jump back around.

“Oh my god, are you okay? How did you know— Urk!” Hands flew to the collar of his robes, forcing out a squeak.

Tom, clothes even more ruined, glared down at him with a wave of smoldering anger reminiscent of his mother. “Unless you want to end up as a mutilated corpse, you are going to listen to me this time. _Am I clear_?”

Crystal.

***

Despite the ominous weight of humidity in the air and the colourful city around it, Kingston Grammar School was quite a dry and drab place indeed. There was no playground for stray teenagers to prey upon, no hidden alleys and corners, and certainly not much inside.

Which made many a passerby wonder at the shadowy figures rooted by its entrance.

“Enough of this! How long are these _buses_ supposed to take?!”

“It’s only been like six minutes!” Will dropped his eyes back to the map pamphlet in front of him, itching his chest absentmindedly. “Trust me, there are buses here all the time, and they’re free. Unless you’ve got a better idea this time?”

Tom snarled, crossing his arms towards the chalk-lined stick figure at his feet. At this time at night, the other giant cars were unavailable, according to the guide. And after a while spent power-walking away from the hotel, they’d argued enough about taxis and trains for a lifetime.

The Leaky Cauldron was in a rather inconvenient part of London, and quite a long distance away. But trains required identification that had been _so unluckily_ blown to pieces, and taxis had to be contacted through some secret Muggle network neither knew how to access. So here they were.

“You are sure someone will be willing to accept the business of a few suspicious children?” Will sighed, his hand rummaging through his pockets.

“No.” He pulled out a green pin, thumbing the engraving with a frown - _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_. “But, this might do the trick. You really need a wand.”

“As if that will be of any use. And you trust this friend of yours?”

“They won’t know that, though. Didn’t? Whatever, that disaster of yours is proof enough you’ve handled one before. S’like riding a bike, you can’t forget it.”

His thoughts wavered at the last statement. How reassuring.

“Finally admitting I’m not entirely delusional,” Tom said dryly. “Though it seems you believe in me more than such a charitable ally if you’re so keen to avoid an answer.”

“That’s- who cares! We have to take what we can get, if you really, uh, came back.” Will turned up towards him. “You still hovering over me?”

He stilled, noticing that the younger boy was encompassed in his shadow.

“Would you prefer that we shouted at each other from across the street?” he deflected.

Will parried right back. “Over shouting at you from a millimeter away, that’s for sure. It’s better than you clinging all the way here.”

But he didn’t mind dropping the matter, a teasing curve to his lips. “What’s the matter, scared of the dark?”

“As if.” _I’m g-gonna die_. “Moreso of what it holds.”

Strained laughter. “Well, a bus, hopefully.”

He forced himself to smirk at the attempt to ease tension. Will shouldn't need to feel that obligation - it should have been him.

“Guess you're gonna, uh, move closer?”

His expression remained neutral, ignoring the lingering question beneath the humour. “I was reading the map, fool.”

“Jerk. Well, I can’t promise to be a good meat shield,” Tom nearly choked. “But since you offered to be my umbrella, move a bit to the left, will you?”

The rain now fell to the sidewalk rhythmically around them. He scrunched his nose as a droplet splashed on his face.

Will contemplated it thoughtfully, then scoured his pockets. A group of coins, a remote, and a small bag all blurred into a chaotic cloud. He watched curiously as long strands of gold wrapped around silver nails, all flowing back to a small cylinder labelled _Duracell_.

As a full circle was formed, Will held it up triumphantly. It was interesting, he supposed, but why-

“Look up!” he encouraged, smiling widely.

He glanced upward, then felt his breath catch. A torrent of rain thundered down before him, cascading around their eye of the storm. Reaching out his hand in awe, he only touched air until feeling the rush of a chilling current.

“It’s a ‘lectro-magnet,” he heard distantly. “Water is real sensitive to them because it’s double magnetic _and_ double polar, so it moves away from it. I’m makin’ the field stronger myself, of course, and when it gets the water molecules easier to mess with…”

 _That wasn’t magic_? But it only took a moment in the other’s mind - a flood of numbers and ideas he couldn’t imagine - to see that it was simply nature and its talented catalyst.

The deep growl of an engine overruled any compliment, allowing his shoulders to finally relax.

“Oh- that’s it! That’s… it?” Red and blue light glowed forth, and as the object approached, Tom saw a strange sort of bike below a sleek helmet.

“Stop right there!” bellowed a man in a dark blue uniform, nearly hitting them with water as it came to a halt. He hopped from the vehicle decisively and stomped towards him.

Will shrank back, the imagery of cold, iron bars and sharp orders bouncing around his mind. Some sort of authority figure, then.

“Good evening, sir.” he demurred. “Is there something you need?”

The man growled. “This some sort of joke, kid? You were going over 40 kilometres over the speed limit!”

“Uh, we don’t have anything to drive. Why else would we be waiting for the bus?”

He glanced around, taking off the helmet to search the darkness. Finding nothing, he startled at the bubble around them.

“Will,” he hissed urgently, after a soft _what the hell_.

“This is, a science project?” Tom almost facepalmed. “I mean, yeah, it’s our project, came here to get it, now we’re waiting on the bus so we can take it home to work on, so, uh, yeah. S’cool, right?”

“I’ll say. Think I might remember making something like it in school, actually.” A frown turned his face. “But what’re doing out here waiting for the bus? School buses don’t work like that, kiddo, they only come before and after classes.”

“I, um.” Tom turned, holding in a rush of indignation. He _knew_ it.

“Wait a second, you’re Will, right?” They both froze. “Your parents were asking for you at the station! Blond hair, blue eyes, and some, uh, Halloween outfit. They mentioned you’d just moved here.”

He began muttering into a black box on his vest. Will was still blinking in disbelief, pivoting around from the officer’s view to mouth _no way_.

“Alright, just got in touch with your dad, he’s been worried sick for hours. Said he’d be here as soon as he can for you and your friend there. I’d take ya there myself, but I don’t have space.”

Something was off. Those parents of his were obviously wizards, so the chance of them going to a police station instead of the magic authorities was slim. And even then, they would have certainly used his real name. Unless they only knew this one.

“His father was at the station already, yes? Was he wearing anything peculiar?”

“Just a suit and slacks. Must have gotten off work right away, he rushed right in and bossed around the chief. Dunno what kinda place uses a clover of all things, but I’ve seen-”

Tom ignored the rest, eyeing the motorcycle in front of him. If they had any hope of getting out of this…

“Will, I need you to make a distraction,” he whispered urgently.

He gently shook the blond from his stupor. Tilting his head to the bike, he received a hesitant nod. Tom prepared himself to run forward.

“Well, at least you kids are okay, always nice to-!”

A sharp buzz of static filled the air, as a small metal shape was shoved into his solar plexus. The large man jerked and sputtered before slowly collapsing to the ground.

Moments later, Tom slid onto the seat of the bike, balancing himself with a familiar tilt of his body. He leaned forward to examine a set of triggers and buttons, as well as an empty keyhole. Not that it couldn't be dealt with.

He turned to see Will examining the officer's wrist, eyeing him with worry. Out of all the times to loiter around!

“Oh man, that was too much, I'm sorry… Hey!”

“Be sorry later!” Tom hoisted him into the air, dropping him onto the motorcycle and pointing to the lock.

There were some fumbling rattles, a great roar of machinery, and one, tiny problem.

“Do you know how to use this thing?!”

He brushed against the mind behind Will’s accusing gaze, where a line of cars and motorcycles and exuberant red-heads awaited him in a wooden shed.

“No,” Tom admitted. “But you do.”

There was a question in him now, a crease in his brow and white in his knuckles. But Will breathed in and let it out.

“Not alone, though. You’ll have to take the pegs ‘n levers, I can’t reach them,” he said. “Left, left is...”

“Gears. And right is speed.” He had no idea what that meant.

“Leave the speed to m-me. Just lean for the direction, and I’ll do the rest.”

And so they rushed into place, bending and shifting around one another with pinched expressions. Tom’s heart pounded with the engine as they jerked forward, the friction and speed warping to push them into the night.

***

It was only a few kilometers to the Leaky Cauldron. Long, dark stretches of road hiding youthful faces, sprinkled with poles of light and moments spent scrambling for a clear view of the map. And while they were sparse in the back road, adrenaline burst forward with each vehicle they passed.

Perhaps they almost crashed about six times. But after that, the shadows began to shorten, and the streets filled with people. Their presence was reassuring, but their gazes still felt so piercing against the hastily-covered “police”.

Tom lurched from his seat when the motorcycle finally curved to a halt.

“Why- is that _it_?” he asked. The air lingered with a stench of sweat, bitterness, and a hint of slurred laughter. Its origin was an equally impressive, faded-brick building squeezed into the strip.

Will responded by parking them along the sidewalk in front of the pub, still too focused to speak.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s… bigger on the inside.”

He nearly toppled while dismounting. Tom swung his leg neatly over the seat, steadying him with an arm around his shoulder.

“I suppose it’s only logical to have architecture as bad as your fashion sense.”

The shorter boy snorted before gaining his bearings, taking hurried strides to the entrance. Tom pulled him back, pointing behind them.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“... Aw crap.” the blond muttered. “How are we gonna hide a freakin’ motorcycle?”

There was a brief staredown, both of them eyeing their conspicuous cargo with contempt. The motorcycle lost, and they walked past a black fire-hydrant and matching garbage can into the Cauldron.

The bell rang them in, alerting a group huddled around the bar. They stood out in their odd, colorful robes against the drabness, but otherwise were unremarkable.

“Oh, a visitor? Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, young man!” greeted an old wizard, waking the fireplace with a flick of… something. “How may I help you?”

He let Will take over, staring at the newly summoned flames. Beyond that, the whole place exuded a warm, hopeful energy that made his head spin with a thousand ideas he couldn’t quite place. So this was magic.

“...’fraid that’s not possible.” said the bartender. “You’ll need a wand to enter Diagon Alley, no exceptions. Where on earth are your parents?”

“I told you, they’re on a business trip! They gave me money to pick up something before they come back, I swear, please just let us in?”

The man weakened under the puppy-dog eyes, but did not break. “Sorry, but it will have to wait until they-”

“You will have to excuse my brother for a moment, sir,” Tom said, teeming with impatience. “My wand was broken, and I need to buy a new one. Surely you can make an exception this once?”

The man turned to his voice, and promptly dropped the bottle he was cleaning. The crack of glass hushed the giggling patrons into petrified murmurs.

“M-Mr. Malfoy! Oh, my apologies sir, you must have important work here again, yes, quite important-”

“You recognize me?” “Malfoy?!”

He squinted and adjusted his glasses, before sputtering out, “Absolutely, sir! Ol’ Tom would never forget an esteemed member of the Grand and Noble Houses. N-now, if you don’t mind, I will gladly show you to Knockturn Alley!”

They were hustled to the door, minds whirling.

“Hey wait a minute, tell us just how-”

He yanked on the back of Will’s robes. “How to reach a bank? We will need to make a withdrawal. A large one.”

Old Tom was tapping his wand as fast as possible against the brick. They clearly were unwanted here, but to be feared as _Malfoy_ held power. The helpful kind.

The wall was open now, bricks dripping away to reveal the Alley. There was a massive building of marble down a road of shops, where a shaking, wrinkled hand now pointed.

“Thank you.” And out they stepped.

The second the opening reformed, though, it appeared they had not been on the same page.

“You-”

“There is nothing to tell. I’m not,” He glanced at the passerby watching, then pulled them away at a moderate pace, voice now softer. “Whoever that is. It just seemed convenient to use. Does it look like anyone else has recognized me?”

“I… guess not. But, uh, we can't use Gringotts with a key, real Malfoy or not. So back up and take a left.”

Tom really needed to stop leading. As dignified as possible, he turned right around and went the correct route this time. After that, it was a straight shot.

“Regardless, you are obviously familiar with Malfoy. Why would he believe we are related?”

Will studied the ground. “Dunno. You don't seem much alike. Must be the poncey attitude.”

He slowed down in front of a gaudy door covered with symbols. The incoming sign caught Tom's attention: _Ollivander's - Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C_.

His stomach rolled with unease. Perhaps it was the dust, or the sickly sweetness of incense.

“Just ignore the smell, it's alright inside.” Will rubbed his elbow below his collar. “Ollivander though. Don't let him distract you, friendly or not. He _knows_ things.”

The store creaked open its ear. He mimed for Tom to look away from some invisible entity, averting his own eyes through the ever-listening door.

It was as old and musty as one would expect, though the endless rows of wands were free from that dusty burden. Sparkling, even. Whoever Ollivander was, he seemed to take good care of his merchandise.

“Ah, but of course I do! The store has a reputation to uphold, after all.”

He resisted a sharp turn, pretending to inspect his non-existent wallet as he revolved into the man’s piercing orbit. Even from the corner of his view, the intense stare burned.

“Not much of a conversationalist, hm?” Ollivander hummed to himself thoughtfully, then walked towards the shadowed shelves. He lightly plucked a few wands off them.

“Very well. Mr. Weasley, would you mind taking one off the left-front stack? I see you haven’t much time tonight.”

The last order was enunciated with a flourish, and several of the objects by Will levitated forth, who flinched at the box-cutting knife and turned away. He faced Tom instead, who simply made a zipping motion against his lips. As if he knew that name, much less its significance.

How _Ollivander_ knew, though. That spiked his curiosity.

“You appear to be quite knowledgeable. Was this all passed down to you?” _Was he like him?_

“Not entirely,” he said, releasing a wand from its confines. “Try this one.”

The first thing Tom noticed was the softness, then the way it wobbled. He had not expected an instrument of power to be so yielding.

“Give it a wave!” It cracked apart violently. “More stubborn, then let’s see…”

Another one took its place, this time firmer. But the wood was rough, and the core hot and powerful. It burst into flames, and Tom dropped it with a shout. A strangled gasp and tumbling boxes followed.

Ollivander sighed. “Not strong enough. Shame, that wood is in such short supply.”

Charred remains floated into a bin, and he addressed the fallen pile of wands by the shelves.

“Don’t worry Mr. Weasley, accidents like this are apart of the process. I’m leaving soon to _restock_ , anyway.”

The onslaught continued. Every time the pile of shrapnel grew, his hands grew wearier and his fingers twitchier. Tom’s attention was straying closer and closer to the door. Wasn’t this supposed to be the expert?

“You’ll have to excuse me. I don’t receive many wizards of your caliber, and none so… undisciplined.”

He almost glared. But instead, he looked to Will’s cautious footsteps, where he balanced a golden wand case in his palm and a nervous flush on his face. His mind was quaking, too.

Stepping in between small hands and Ollivander’s awaiting grasp, he intercepted any further intrusion, pulling out the wand as fast he could.

“Go ahead- oh, wait a moment.” Too late. A decisive flick rustled the items on the table, cracking a few glasses. The wand, however, remained intact. _Finally_.

The wandmaker did not seem quite as relieved, now flipping through messy notes and grasping at the label on the wand case.

“Fourteen inches, unicorn hair, willow, I’ve seen this before. And yet it’s still here, no record of its selling or return-”

“Then we will make one. Seven Galleons, is it?” He nudged Will on the shoulder, who already had the payment ready. Just as eager to escape the senile twit.

“That wand may be a fake! But no, I remember making that one, I’m sure it’s hers...”

Ollivander was observing him closely, and Tom’s eye twitched at some invisible discomfort.

“Then _maybe_ you forgot. I’ve had enough distractions for one evening, take my money and we will have our leave.”

“Distraction?” The old man startled as if colliding into revelation, and turned to the grandfather clock. His aged features twisted and paled.

“They’re - oh dear, I should have known, I could never resist an interesting case.” Ollivander was scrambling now, snatching various oddities into his pockets.

“Hey, hold up, what about the wand?”

The wandmaker hurried to the fireplace, a black vial in his hands. “Just take it. Take it and leave as quickly as you can. They planned your arrival, this is a trap!”

This couldn’t be a coincidence. “Is _they_ the Felt?”

Ollivander flinched, the stream of dark liquid slowly sealing the fire.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! How?!” The wandmaker ignored Will, grabbing a handful of powder before pocketing a few papers. “Wait, you’re leaving? Bring us with you!”

“I - I’m sorry, my family awaits me. If they are hunting you personally, then you will be found, and I cannot risk them. You must face them head-on, as your predecessor did.” He stepped into azure flames as they roared and consumed him. “ _Le Régent du Marais_!”

The shout echoed through the small room, leaving silence after a dramatic gust killed the last vestiges of candlelight.

Will eventually found the nerve to speak, his voice high and breathless.

“That- that _bastard_! He ran off to Paris and left us here to die!”

“Only because the Felt who used us as a trap,” Tom said apprehensively, realizing they were back to square one. “The question is why it would have worked.”

“Ollivander’s a creep, but supposedly he was nice. Just obsessed with, uh, special guys like himself. Has kids too, I think. Maybe it was the wand thing?"

Will was bouncing on his heels, scratching his chest. Tom wanted to leave just as much, but they would just end up exactly where they were wanted. And if he assumed correctly, in the vulnerable lap of another psychic.

"A teenager is a strange choice for benevolence fishing." There was no memory attached to it, but that adult condescension ( _troublemaker, mistake_ ) was familiar.

He dismissed it firmly. "And if they already knew who to find, then what's the point?"

 _You're just a bonus_. Isn't that what Clover had said to them? No, just Will, they had ignored him completely. But a bonus to whom? Ollivander?

"Guess they thought he'd take us in and they'd surprise whoever else left with him. Bloody cowards."

And yet they were hunted last time regardless. This strategy was surprisingly consistent - not to mention the Felt wasn't here yet. They were waiting for something.

"Will, who were we going to after this?"

Sky-blue eyes crossed in thought, then widened dramatically as they came to the same conclusion.

"Oh man, I'm such an idiot, they want M-" he said, cutting himself off and flushing nervously.

"Malfoy, yes." No point in hiding it now. "Since you can't teleport, they decided to observe us on how else to get to him."

Will protested right away. "They couldn't have known that we knew each other!"

He almost mentioned the pin, despite Will not revealing it the first time. Not to mention a hostage or blackmail would be far more useful.

"They just figured you were going to someone powerful. That's why they need to observe you first." Which meant they had time to waste here - or they were being watched right now.

"But aren't they after you?"

"Obviously, but it doesn't matter since I found you right… away…"

Tom sucked in a breath. No way, impossible, they couldn't have…

"They used me to kill you," he said hoarsely.

"What?!"

What was the chance he would run into the one person in Diagon Alley who could enable any of these plans?

No wonder Clover hadn't bothered attacking him: he was their bait. Will had been too difficult to catch, a protector too strong, so they found a way to catch all three (fuck, _four_ ) of them with one strike.

It was simple, yet effective. Let Tom escape so the others wouldn’t be scared off and hide, help him catch their attention. Corner them and wait to see what they do, and kill them if they go nowhere useful - then wait for any back up to arrive.

Bitterly, he admitted to being impressed, beneath the seething pit of indignance.

“Before. You-”

“Knife in the chest,” Will repeated faintly. “You were serious?”

His stomach dropped. It could be an hour, even minutes away.

“They’re coming here. Leave, I can stall.” Or say he went with Ollivander.

“Where?! They can just split up, and there’s nowhere to go!” The smaller boy collapsed on himself, hands gesturing wildly.

The despair was well-earned, since he was right. So had that know-it-all wandmaker - combat was probably their best option.

Which was truly a miserable admission. He had no skills whatsoever, and the last attempt had been a complete disaster. All they had was a wand, an element of surprise, and some flimsy foreknowledge.

“So we are fighting, then.” It would have to do.

“You crazy?” Will started to steady himself anyway.

“Desperate.” Tom eyed the wand in his hands, ignoring the incredulity. “Teach me a spell. Preferably a killing one.”

“Knowing our luck right now, it’ll bounce back. Yeah, it’s happened,” he said at the disbelieving expression “Say, uh, Reducto. It blows stuff up.”

“Reducto.” A nearby chair cracked and wobbled underwhelmingly.

Tom tried it again, tightening his grip. Same result.

Will was rushing about the room, poking at the shelves. “Please, _please_ let there be a spellbook…”

“There must be more to it than this.”

“How would I know?!” the shorter boy snapped, locking the door. “Just - try Confringo. Don’t ask what it does, it’s just a curse I’ve heard.”

Tom awkwardly pointed the long wand and named the spell. As he pictured, it did nothing.

There was a frustrated screech, and a few boxes were kicked across the floor. It seemed Will found nothing of use either. This was as prepared as they were going to get.

“Will. Will!” he hissed. “Go hide somewhere.”

“O-Okay. What are you going to do?” Repent for his failures. “Wait, hide with me!”

“No. I’m the diversion.”

“If they see one of us, they’ll know we’re both here anyway. If we hit them together, we might take them out!”

“Really.” Tom knelt down beside him, arching his brows. The spot had a good view of the window, and slightly around the corner of a wall was the door.

“You cast a spell at the door, I’ll trip them and bust the window-”

“And then we run through it. Make sure they step on the glass.” Impalement was likely too much to ask for.

“Okay.” Will let out a deep breath. He traced the path to the door with his eyes, and the images in his thoughts centered at the top left hinge. It ended with a pointed look at Tom.

“I’ll be sure to aim there,” he said. Nervousness could make it hard to articulate, and he trusted there was a reason.

It was hard to speak further. Instead, he focused.

The wind rustled the wooden signs, forcing out an anxious creak. Tom kept his unblinking gaze at the front, nerves twitching and alert. His hand was gripped loosely around a smaller wrist, another around the wand.

There were footsteps. He tightened his hold as Will gasped softly.

They grew closer, appearing past the glass. Tom felt a chill go down his spine, even as they remained hidden in shadow. Two figures, one large and another slender.

He squeezed. _Get ready_.

There was a knock, firm and polite. It echoed mockingly.

“W-When they try the knob,” Will whispered. He had melded the lock and handle to the wall.

Another knock, then a murmuring laugh. Tom tried to hear-

 _Bang_. He was tugged to the side, the sound of metal against wood in the spot his head had been.

There was no time to stare, the door now shaking under an assault of heavy, thumping strikes.

“Reducto!” The door barely flinched, and through the new hole, he saw a sleek metal barrel.

“Reducto!” The sidewalk outside made an audible crack.

“Re-” It wasn’t enough, and the metallic seal on the door broke off. But not before the wand was yanked from his hands.

“ _Reducto_!” A burst of white and gold light blinded him, slamming against the entrance and tearing it to pieces.

Tom unshielded his eyes. The entire storefront was gone, and two bodies struggled to stand in the wreckage.

“How-?” Will gasped harshly, blood dripping down his chin. He suddenly did not care how.

He pulled him up and retook the wand, heading towards the window side. They stumbled and coughed, running through the cloud of debris.

“Oh, there you are, hello!” A massive bullet buried itself into the pavement between them.

Tom was shoved away, but the effort made Will lean heavily into the wall. This was beginning to follow an all-too-familiar scene.

He moved back towards the entrance, gaining their attention. Clover could only aim at one of them, and the dust impeded his vision too far.

The gun he had was larger, too, taking longer to fire.

“Reducto!” Dodged, of course. But it prevented him from shooting, made him keep a distance.

In his peripheral, he saw Sawbuck arise to his towering height.

“Goddamn brat burned me, messed up my shit…” He cracked a manic grin, approaching all too quickly.

It was now two versus one. Unless Tom could hit them both, they were dead. He backed up and tried to think.

Theoretically, he just needed a large enough blast. Reducto wasn’t going to do it alone: the explosion would need a catalyst. Something to fan the flames - and not kill him in the process.

He turned to the fireplace, where that black substance still bubbled. The blue fire had not harmed Ollivander, he recalled, though the force of its summoning clearly had an impact.

“This again? Pathetic.” Clover cocked his gun, voice dripping with boredom. “Drop the wand, freak, and we might forget about your friend.”

“Okay.” He tried to look frightened, slowly lowering his wand to the floor.

Sawbuck moved in for the kill, ( _wait for it_ )

Stepping over the table and poised barely in front of his partner - enough to make Clover hesitate a shot. And lunged. ( _Now!)_

Tom abruptly turned to the hearth and shouted the curse, Sawbuck’s sudden laugh drowned in its wake.

The world turned white.

***

And then grey, and blue and pink and red…

Tom’s eyes burned. His ears rang and his head hurt and his heart was beating so dizzily fast.

He was sitting now, slipping down. There were footsteps, loud voices, and the sun was glaring at him over the edge of the horizon.

“-Alright, dear?” repeated the red blob, now far too close. It pulled out a wand.

The incantation hit him like cold water, and the dust covering him disappeared. Vision clear, he observed the ginger woman blearily.

“I’m fine.” The words tasted dry. “Just, ah, Floo problems.”

“Rushed the address? My children do the same thing - always in a hurry,” she tutted. “Well, I won’t hold you then. Be more careful next time!”

She patted his shoulder, then continued to hustle down the neatly paved road of… Diagon Alley.

For a moment, he just stared. Watching time click by on the square’s massive clock, he considered whether that had been a dream.

Dreams don’t create new faces. “Will!”

The chaotic crowd ignored the cry. He took in every place that his eyes could see, narrowing in on a few mops of blond hair. None of them had the loud mouth and height to match.

There were no dark suits either. No stalkers, nothing preventing Tom from continuing to that _Borgin & Burkes _as planned.

Logically, he knew that was the best course of action - the Felt could be thrown, a rescue could come, and surely men like Malfoy appreciated the warning he would bring. Yet he was gripped with unease, leaving Will behind.

It would have to wait.

Though consumed in his contemplations, he checked the signs nearby, none mentioning where the shop could be. Which meant that he would have to engage with another person.

Reluctantly, Tom tried to contort his face into one he observed on the television - the one that was ‘charming’ and ‘welcoming’ and hurt his cheeks - and approached the first person he saw.

“Excuse me miss, are you able to spare a moment?”

The girl gave him a smile, looking a bit flushed. Her friend murmured something beyond her hand, not-so-discreetly staring and giggling. How strange.

“S-Sure!”

“Could you provide me directions to Borgin and Burkes? This is my first time visiting Diagon Alley, and it’s proven a challenge.”

“Ha, if you think this is bad - wait, you mean, in Knockturn Alley?” The light vanished from her eyes. “That’s a place for dark wizards, y’know-”

“My brother arranged the meeting place, and I’m already _quite_ late.”

Tom shifted his tone. Her mind had been too unfocused to read once they had seen his face, and he had no time for their dawdling.

Information came forth, then he left as fast as he could without standing out. The further he got, the more he noticed the buildings fold in on themselves and the people guard their pockets.

The terrifying Knockturn Alley was a narrow, downhill path, its entrance tucked shamefully at the edge of the area. Rather pathetic and shabby, but the only darkness lurking there was the desperation of poverty. Whether ‘dark wizards’ were an excuse or a scapegoat, he couldn’t be certain.

Fortunately, Borgins was one of the first shops along the street, an array of devices glowered up from the window sills. Tom resisted the urge to inspect them in favor of proceeding through the aged door.

It was too dark to see much of the inside. “Is there anyone here?”

“-don’t want to know.” he heard faintly, the door in the back shifting ajar. “So if our business is done, M’lady, I would prefer you to leave with your… purchase.”

“Watch your tone, Borgin.” A tall woman with blond hair gave the shopkeeper a cold stare as he held the door for her. “Unless you wish for your most crucial benefactor to invest elsewhere?”

“N-No, Lady Malfoy! Forgive me, it’s just this delivery was- Hey, you! How long have you been there?”

Borgin tore his eyes from _Lady_ Malfoy, pointing at Tom accusingly. Like he could care.

“I only just arrived, sir, there’s no need to fret.” He faced Malfoy instead, who gazed at him with a pure disregard that he deftly ignored. The indifference would be mutual, if not for Will.

“As for my lady here, I must-”

“I have no time for beggars today. Move, peasant.” _Or else_.

He did not doubt she could enforce her threat hundred-fold if her steel-trap mind was any indication. It was reassuring - she would undoubtedly be useful.

“It’s business.” She arched her brow, subtly reaching for her wand. “Does the name Weasley ring a bell?”

Borgin burst into laughter. “Oh, those ragged blood-traitors have _business_ , do they? What do even have left to sell? One of those kids, maybe?”

Malfoy did not join in. She tensed up even more, if possible. A rich, powerful woman and an outcast child would certainly make good extortion material.

“It’s about the kid, actually,” he added quickly. “We have gotten a few followers recently. He mentioned you would be… understanding.”

Her haughty expression morphed immediately. “Borgin, leave us. _Now_.”

He scurried off, and Malfoy silently sent a wave of blue light to the door as it closed behind him. Before he could blink, the wand dug into his chin painfully.

“Talk. Where is Ron?” she hissed. So that was his name.

“A hotel, Kingston.” he choked out, before pushing her hand away.

“I’ve no desire to blackmail you Malfoy, he was trying to reach you for safety against the Felt. That’s why W- Ron told me.” After some mind-reading, but that was irrelevant.

“The what?” Her eyes widened. “How in Merlin’s name-”

“They were using him to catch you,” he said. “That’s why I came alone - so they would not follow.”

“It was not I they hoped for.” She did not elaborate, still suspicious. “How do I know this isn’t a farce?”

Tom handed her his wand. It was almost useless to him in his current state.

“I’ll give you any proof you need, as long as you cooperate.”

She eyed him critically, then relaxed with a sigh. With her appearance less guarded, he could see the stress and exhaustion lining her face.

“Alright, ah-”

“My name is Tom, ma’am.”

“Tom,” she parroted uncertainly. “Then call me Narcissa, I despise the formality.”

“Narcissa, then. What do you plan to do?”

“That is not an easy question,” she said. “It seems they are everywhere lately. I came here to deal with them, but I suppose that may have to wait.”

“Deal with them?”

“Malfoy business. None of your concern.” He noticed her thumbing an object in her pocket, a glowing, white-gold vial.

“Your family is being targeted, then.”

There was a long pause, both of them locked in a staring contest. They jumped as the door creaked open.

“Mister Borgin, are you-” Ollivander peered out from the door. “Pardon me for interrupting, Ms. Malfoy. Did you get a new wand recently?”

“Excuse me, we were just leaving,” Tom said, as she pocketed his wand discreetly. What was that cretin doing in a place like this?

“Don’t worry, I’m just picking up an order. Ah, there it is!” he exclaimed, grabbing a black jar off the counter. “Never know when you’ll need a long-distance Floo, explosive as they are.”

He was rather twitchy. So he had been planning to escape, until he was distracted. The wandmaker must have recognized him earlier.

Malfoy pulled him out of the store in her sharp grip while his thoughts consumed him.

This was not an alternate series of events. Everything that happened would/had happened. But there had been two different versions of Ron, so it would mean there were multiple of him and Tom. Or maybe it was a coincidence.

He would have to take a serious gamble - either Ron’s death is inevitable and they would be doomed trying to rescue him (considering the whole situation screamed ‘trap’), or that this world was another opportunity.

It was already dark. “Narcissa, we need to get to Kingston.”

“Where else did you think we were going?” she said. “We cannot just appear from thin air in a Muggle city.”

“He could be dying.”

She halted, whipping around so fast he felt the air of the motion, and pulled him aside. The people giving them a wide berth turned to stare.

“Why didn’t you say so!” Malfoy whispered thunderously. “Kingston, you said?”

“It’s complicated-” She snatched his arm and began to wave her wand. “Stop! He tried teleporting, it didn’t work.”

“Impossible. His Apparition is perfect, it even goes through wards.”

“We’ve had a run of bad luck. One of our shadows have something to do with it,” he said, wishing even more that he could strangle Clover with his own intestines. “He might also be in Diagon Alley at this moment.”

“Which one is it?” she demanded. Her patience appeared to be running thin.

“I don’t - time travel,” he tried to explain. “There was time travel, so he might be in both, or is equally likely to be in either location.”

“They have a time turner,” Malfoy said incredulously.

“They cannot do it on command, and I seem to be the only one doing any travelling.” He guessed the turner was something different.

She opened her mouth to ask, but closed her eyes and breathed out instead.

“In which case did he need us more?”

“Still Kingston. Can you drive?” Public transportation was too vulnerable, and he didn’t want to take a chance with the bike again,

“Motorcycle - I had a good teacher.”

He refrained from commenting, electing to walk faster.

It wasn’t long until they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, and at this point, they were practically running. Malfoy walked in with her head held high despite her uneven breathing, and Tom adopted her pace and posture to the best of his ability. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

Tom Senior was flustered by their “welcome surprise”, but she dismissed his concerns when she introduced him as her husband’s cousin. The barkeep nodded, mentioning with false bravado that he had seen him around with “the Lord”.

The teen loitered by the fireplace for a second before marching outside, not wanting to listen any longer.

***

The wind howled around them, too fast to read the luminescent figures on the dashboard. Not that Tom needed to see it - they were well beyond the ‘speed limit’ of 60 km.

If he had to estimate, they were probably going at around 100, but he was too busy gripping on for dear life to Malfoy’s torso to tell.

Trying not to think about it, the teen decided to watch the mirror instead. The emptiness of the country road was comforting, a nice contrast to all of the crowds.

Except for the large vehicle approaching in the rearview.

Malfoy started to slow down at a railroad crossing, its gates lowering and flashing in warning. The other car did not - it seemed they were out for more than a midnight joyride.

“Narcissa,” he hissed. “Behind us.”

She tilted her head back in annoyance, recognizing the threat with widened eyes. The gates were almost down, and there was a line of steam rising in the air close by.

Her wand was out in a flash. “Ascendre!”

The gateway flung open, and she wasted no time roughly grasping the throttle and sending them through the growing light on the tracks.

Tom tried to close his eyes, to just breath and listen and wait. But he opened them at a deafening roar that shook the ground, gaping at the massive, metallic _beast_ charging towards him.

It was hardly a meter away from him when a rush of frigid air hit and the bike slid to a halt, curving parallel to the tracks.

“Why-” He coughed on a trail of smoke. “Why on earth are you stopping!”

“To see if he can get around the train. If not, I imagine more of this bad luck will follow.”

That inescapable behemoth was a train? No, he was not going to try and process that now.

“So you are letting him just catch up.”

“So I can curse him into the next week and keep any other filth from following, yes.” Malfoy daintily shoved his wand back, sparing him almost no attention.

He studied her posture for exposure of arrogance or excitement. She remained poised, thrumming with some unknown potential.

“As long as you leave some for me,” Tom said. “You wouldn’t happen to have any suggestions?”

“Nothing illegal.”

At least she believed him a competent, well-trained wizard. Tom supposed more Reducto practice couldn’t hurt, as long as Malfoy had something else up her sleeve.

He watched the train race by more comfortably, basking in the warm glow of the passengers above them. They would finally have the upper hand, and Tom was vindictively eager for it.

An engine growled from the dark hills on their right.

“He went around.”

“It should have slowed him down,” muttered Tom, as Malfoy kicked back into gear and sped off as fast as they could accelerate.

But the car glided over the uneven terrain too gracefully, and upon closer inspection, it was slick and compact than anything he saw in the city. It swiveled onto the road in a neat arc and began to gain on them.

“Reducto!” Surprisingly, it managed to crack the windshield.

“That was supposed to be a Reductor Curse. Are you a _first-year_?”

“You really think the car isn’t protected?”

“Then cast something stronger, idiot!”

Well, there’s a problem. “I said I was taking suggestions!”

Malfoy turned around, and for a moment he thought she would hex him. A quick “ _Expulso_ ” flashed past him and forced the car back instead.

Expulso - to expel, eject. He observed the flick and thrust of her wrist, miming it while keeping the other arm firmly on her waist, considering the sharpness in her eyes and voice as she said…

Tom cast the curse, and blinked as the black object skidded back harshly and nearly flipped onto its side. Not enough to stop it, of course, but a welcome success.

They rushed past an intersection filled with obnoxious signs and signals, and Tom swore there was a siren’s wail. At least the urban sprawl decorated their surroundings now, bringing a few narrower roads and avenues alongside the protection of the nighttime public.

“Take one of those towards the housing area, our inn is just past there.” Malfoy heeded the instruction immediately, choosing the thinnest and obscured alleyway on the block.

The siren grew louder, and the mirror reflected back vibrant a familiar pattern of red and blue.

“Oi, stop the bike!”

Malfoy prepared her wand, only to have her arm tugged back.

“Don’t be daft, woman, they’re police-”

“Muggle, then. _Repello Muggletum_!”

She made a sharp turn immediately after the silver haze burst forth. To his relief, it made that officer go in the opposite direction - towards his past self.

_No. It was just a coincidence, just bad luck._

He returned his gaze to a sign in the shadowed edge of the street, squinting through the wind and darkness.

“That’s it, that one.” Malfoy gave the shabby place a derisive snort.

The moment they were fully parked - a rushed, uneven job - they hopped off the seat. Tom regarded the window of their room carefully.

“Can you disguise me, somehow? I might be, or have been, in there already.”

She gave him a long stare, grey eyes less piercing and more exhausted with all this nonsense. Tom empathized with it greatly.

Eventually, the woman shook her head with a sigh and waved in a new outfit. He noticed the tightness around his waist right away, prodding the black leather jacket while giving Malfoy a glare.

“Muggle fashion. Don’t blame me.” She walked away from him as he tripped over the sidewalk, growling at the combat boots he now adorned and re-adjusting the seamed cap.

The inn staff hardly spared them a glance, and most of the people still around were occupied by something in the dining area.

Tom made long, fast strides up the stairs, ignoring the tugging sensation in his stomach and the blood pounding in his ears.

“Room 6, here!”

He went to yank the door open, but was halted.

“What are you doing? Smell the smoke and listen, it would have burned your hand."

“It was put out already. I deactivated the alarm as we left.”

They were in the wrong place. Ron and other-him were in Diagon Alley - but not at the risk of dying. Not yet.

Something still nagged at him. Pointless as it was, he opened the door and observed the room, remembering what Ron had said about putting it out.

“Would you mind, Narcissa?” he said, gesturing to the room. “I imagine you are far more skilled in leaving no evidence behind.”

“As opposed to the person who saw it in its original state?” The room repaired itself anyway, Malfoy hardly even moving her wand to force every speck back into place. Show off.

He took a minute to examine the table for any other traces of the two boys’ presence, before turning away in relief.

“Alright, I suppose we should-”

“S’not funny, you prat. Ugh, stupid stairs…”

Malfoy jumped, marching out the door towards the voice below. Tom strode out of the room as well, heart pounding.

He grabbed her hand right away, blocking her view of the top stair.

“Release me and turn around, you fool.” She grasped her wand tightly.

“Just wait! I don’t remember noticing us that much.”

He realized that sounded more confusing out loud, but it kept her distracted while they walked into their room.

Tom couldn’t help but look. He rationalized it was because he had yet to properly see his own profile, but the shorter boy’s nauseous face kept most of his attention.

Until glacier-blue eyes met his, and he froze.

“Nice outfit, dork,” Ron snickered under his breath, mind turning back to equations and food. Pot meet kettle.

The second the door closed, Malfoy bared her teeth at him in the politest manner she could.

“We are in Diagon Alley, at the moment.”

“Ron is right here, right now. Exactly where we should be-”

“If we were meant to do it, then I would remember it happening,” Tom said, rubbing his temple. Despite the amnesia, his memory up to now functioned adequately, so he hoped he could rely on his current logic.

And if everything that happened was currently happening, that means the Ron who needed saving - chronologically at least - was not here.

Or was he? There were certainly two of them, but which one was the first one? And if time was indeed causing them to create self-fulfilling circles, then there should only be one - or Ron would have remembered everything the second time.

“And yet you don’t remember meeting me at all before this.”

“Irrelevant. Ron didn’t come with me, so he would still be there when we arrive.”

“He’s here already. There can’t be two, and you said _this_ one was in greater danger.”

“Yes, but the other…” Actually, come to think of it, he didn’t see him in the moments before the explosion went off. And if Clover and Sawbuck were injured, there’s no way they could keep up.

There was only one sure manner of saving both, and it was here.

“Either way, we need to be outside. The two of them will expect us to come from the entrance, and we could lose the opportunity for surprise.”

“...that is acceptable,” said Malfoy. “As long as you explain your incompetence on the way. Don’t think I did not notice.”

“Fine.” A devious smirk formed. “But since we’ll need to blend in...”

***

Walking through downtown Kingston late at night was far more disappointing experience this time around, every store closed and not a single, activated television at the storefronts.

“Ridiculous Muggles, ridiculous clothes…” With one notable exception.

Another scuffle against the cement signified that Malfoy’s eternal battle with her long, fluffy coat had yet to falter.

Granted, it had frustrated her enough to just accept that Tom was ‘homeschooled’, but that may have just been her ignorance of life beyond money - which is why he imagined she clung to the rich, obnoxious thing. A source of joy for both of them.

He halted at the next corner.

“I believe we are close to where they… ” Chased us down and knifed him. “Where we will be quite soon. It must have been a few blocks down.”

“Can we be expecting them soon? We could begin-”

“Afraid there’s no beginnings for you anymore.”

They turned around. Tom with careful slowness, Malfoy with a sharp turn and a raised wand.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Sawbuck, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t exactly go well for ya pal over there, yeah?”

“Oh, quite the contrary. I look forward to another opportunity to burn you alive, highly recommended.”

“You really are, aren't cha?” The laugh that came out was disturbingly unfitting, all high and hoarse. “Man, fuckin’ wizards. Destroying everything with your Abracadabras.”

“Is that an offer?” said Narcissa. “I would enjoy nothing more to show you what a real curse is, filthy-”

“Mudblood, right? Been there, done that.” The large man idly examined his nails. “Been here with your emo friend, too. And back at Ye Olde Wizard Town.”

This was not the one that attacked (would attack) the pair in the hotel. Which meant he had some other reason to be here.

“I almost went for it at Borgins, too. Stayed all chill, even though nobody likes getting hurt-”

“What stopped you then?” _What was stopping him now?_

“Didn’t you listen, kid? I get you, I feel you!” he said, exposing his teeth in some mockery of a smile. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Is _that_ why you used me to murder innocent people? To hold hands and make friendship bracelets?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want.” Sawbuck’s expression transformed yet again. “Always about what the wizards need. You could make me whatever ya wanted, do anything in the whole world.”

“You’re not here because he’s a wizard,” said Malfoy, pointing her wand decisively.

“A magical one admitting it’s not the center of the fucking attention? Now there’s a first. Means jackshit coming from an evil bitch like you...”

“Says the murderer.”

“Facing justice now, aren’t I?” he said, turning to face Tom with his arms spread out. “And what does she get instead, more money? Just because she’s a regressive fucknut in a society of mutated freaks. Even gets fresh unicorn-foal blood for sister dearest - what was that you said about murderers, again?”

“The only regressive freak here is you,” she said, low and threatening.

“Uh huh, right. Mudbloods have gone to space and split the atom, but clearly, we should listen to the guys who haven’t upgraded from the candle in the last century.”

“Do I detect jealousy? That magic can do more than you could imagine-”

“Actually, it can’t,” Sawbuck deadpanned. “But pretty boy? He’s got something special, a _real_ connection to the world, none of that magic bullshit blocking it out.”

“And so you decide to kill me.”

“We haven’t laid a hand on you, brat,” he dismissed. “We gotta get the weak ones out, obviously, and the trouble, but you’re meant for more. Gonna change the universe.”

“I believe I will pass.” Tom gritted his teeth, trying to stay calm. “Perhaps you should have offered that to the _child_ you murdered, instead.”

“How d’you know he’s dead? Might have gone through Borgin’s back to Sugar Daddy Malfoy.” Sawbuck smirked as Malfoy’s face whitened. “Oh yeah, sweetheart, I saw you.”

“You will not touch them,” she intoned forcefully, avoiding Tom’s grip with a bold step forward. “Sectum-”

“No! He’s distracting us, baiting you, do not let him-”

“Go ahead. Go right ahead!” Sawbuck cackled lowly. “Hit me and see what happens. I’ll be there when you’re weak, make those nightmares a fucking reality!”

Tom stilled, remembering the moments before the world had warped around him. The few, halting seconds after he watched Sawbuck burn until…

“He’ll move you in time, you fool!” She still struggled. “Anywhere, anytime, and with Clover’s luck he’d end up where he could kill them all.”

Her eyes snapped open as she ceased her pulling. He expected rage, but only read layers of anguish and fear.

“Good call, junior. Except, well,” Sawbuck pulled out some silver, glowing box with an antenna. “You can’t stop what’s already here. They’re on the next street, make your move Clover!”

They could not have tricked them into this again, it was impossible. And yet it was clear now how the Felt had discovered the inn, Sawbuck had tracked them, he was going to fail again-

The box warbled with static and a chuckle that sent chills down his spine, and just before it closed, “ _Well, then today must be your lucky day."_

Minutes, they only had minutes. “Narcissa, slow him down, just don’t hurt him.”

He knew he wasn’t a runner, and neither was she. They should have stayed closer, he was so sure he had seen them here, but it was this Sawbuck - it was all so _wrong_.

Malfoy caught up in his blurring peripherals, and he hoped that her spell had been as painful and brutal as her anger.

“Clover is there, he’s the one with,” he paused for a breath. “Luck, the one who killed him, hit with whatever you have as fast as possible.”

It felt like an eternity passed before their arrival. The wind was harsher and more frigid, his heart and lungs were about to collapse on themselves, but they kept their gulps of air as silent as they could against the corner.

The alleyway was dead silent.

Tom went to peer around the corner, but was yanked back.

 _There’s two_ , mouthed Malfoy, her wand alit with four prongs of violet energy that she concealed against her palm.

A few clicks of leather echoed by their end. Each step made them shrink into the brick, the light stench of sour metal cloying his senses.

The pressure of Clover was nearly claustrophobic by the time he released a low, humorless chuckle. Rubber material glided over skin and metal in squeaks and sickening squelches of skin.

“Such a waste,” he said. “I suppose you didn’t sign up for this either.”

He shared a look with Malfoy, but the anxiety relented when the footfalls moved away.

“But, for what it’s worth,” The pause was considerate, as if he expected interruption. “This world will thank your sacrifice.”

Neither of them budged an inch until the steps were completely lost to the wind.

Tom leapt from his crouched position at a knee-cracking speed, bracing himself for-

“Oh my god.”

If not for the pool surrounding him, Ron may have seemed peaceful with his limbs rearranged and eyelids shut. Tom focused on his mouth and nose, steadfastly ignoring the pulsing, dripping hole.

The two fingers on the throat yielded nothing.

“That, that…” Malfoy’s voice trembled, and she didn’t kneel so much as come undone at his side. “I cannot heal that, it went through-”

“ **Try.** ” He kept his hand firm.

“Espikey,” No heartbeat. “Obduxero, Exsuscito, _Reparo_!”

There were a dozen more spells, abstract to minor to completely useless.

Tom felt them, though. Every single one made his insides scream out, to burn the wound off greying flesh and snap her wand in two.

“ **Try. Something. Else.** ”

“I am trying _everything_ ,” Ron’s robes fixed themselves on the next wave. “Unlike you!”

She pressed again at the vial of blood in her pocket like an unwanted parasite - unicorn’s blood, He grabbed for it, anticipating that she would dodge.

Her wand aimed at him desperately.

“Narcissa.”

“No!” She backed away from them. “It is for my sister, for Sirius, I will not leave them to that slaughterhouse-”

“ **I wasn’t asking.** ”

He bothered with no incantation, his intention needed no guide. Just a punishment, _you filthy, backstabbing, worthless-_

Malfoy’s mouth dropped open, forced down by some invisible weapon _(he clenched his wand tighter, gave her his soul)_. Laboured breaths and glassy eyes gave into distant shouts, flailing and shaking as if she was burning alive.

Just enough for him to reach into her pocket and let her fall, where she stared blankly into the sky.

There were no instructions as he turned it over in his hands, shaking it to find it thick and viscous. A gel or paste, but it was liquid and he had no time to figure out.

Tom tipped it right over Ron’s chest.

At first, it was nothing except the flow of gold fluid and blood. But the glow was seeping into skin, spreading under it, surrounding the cut like a vicious army of hope.

It was working. It was _working_ , and Tom must have looked insane laughing in its radiance and staring with wide eyes where it weaved and warped the child’s form. Deciding to risk it, he snatched a wrist and let out a long cackle when it pulsed back warmly.

And then two pale-gold lights snapped open.

“My god, you’re alive. You are _alive_!”

Ron’s hands went straight to his chest as he shot upward, patting himself down shakily. Tom observed his spastic energy with some foreign strain on his face.

“What the bloody hell,” he said. “What…”

“You’re alive.”

“Uh huh,” Ron made a pained expression difficult to read through empty lanterns. “Got that the first time, but- Cissy?!”

“She’s fine,” Probably. “Just took a rest after healing you, because you’re-”

“Alive, yeah.” He rubbed his temple. “What even happened?”

“What do you remember last?” The shorter boy’s thoughts were jumbled, a mixture of _Ow_ and _Narcissa?_ and _Tom’s okay, right, he seems off, maybe I should say something._

“Sleeping.” Ron poked him a bit, in case this was apart of a dream. “You, uh, alright there?”

The blood had taken the pain from more than just his body, it seemed. Perfect.

“Never better. It was just unexpected for you to faint away like that.”

Ron went to take his wrist back, then did a double-take.

“Tom, why am I _glowing_.”

“You are familiar with unicorn’s blood, of course,” Tom prayed to whatever deity cursing him thus far that he did not. “It’s a perfectly common side-effect-”

“I drank _unicorn blood_?!” he screeched, returning to his deathly-paleness. “Oh man, that’s what the weird feeling is, I’m gonna lose my freaking soul! Don’t you know that stuff’s cursed?”

“It fixed you, did it not? And it was obviously a salve, you drank nothing. Stop that!”

Tom snatched him (“Hey!”) while trying to eject the non-existent substance from his stomach.

“We can examine you later for anything unforeseen,” The smaller boy was lifted up and placed softly on his feet with an arm around his shoulders. “But for now, we need to go.”

“Fucking finally, kid, I thought you’d be here until morning.”

Sawbuck leaned against the wall, fiddling with a knife coated in faded-scarlet at its edge. His shades zeroed onto Ron in an instant, before he was shielded from view.

“Well hey there, squirt, you’re looking better. Really digging the laser vision,” He loomed over Malfoy. “Can’t say the same for you. Jesus, what the hell did you do to make her scream like that?”

Large hands lowered curiously over her blank face, their shadow waking Malfoy from the trance ever so slightly. Grey eyes fluttered and dilated as they waved back and forth, and the rest of her form shuddered back into a hazy reality.

“Get away from her!” Ron said, punctuating his wavering declaration with a point. “Or I’ll, I’ll-”

The lights in his eyes flickered. His mind was being overwhelmed, the digits or measurements drowned beneath a sea of luminescence.

“Hard to concentrate, isn’t it? Gotta love magic,” said Sawbuck, frowning. “And what are ya pointing at me for? I haven’t done a damn thing - thanks for the time saver, _Tom_ -”

He jabbed a curse in the killer’s direction, drawing on the remainder of silent fury. It barely ruffled the hem of the suit, only earning a raised eyebrow.

“You really wanna make this a third time?” The large man had a foot on her chest, keeping the body in place. “Just give up and come with me. There’s nothing the two of you can do.”

“What about the boy?” Tom arranged his features to apathy with the best of his ability.

“Don’t care. I have what I came for.”

He didn’t dare look at Ron. They truly did not have a choice in the matter - if they hurt Sawbuck, he would simply return it six-fold to whoever they inadvertently cornered next.

The blond did not seem to agree, as he released him wordlessly. He gazed at him with eyes blazing, _come on, why can’t I do anything_ -

“You aren’t seriously going to listen!” he said with a crack in his voice.

Tom walked forward.

“If you were smart, you’d start running, brat,” Sawbuck drawled, tilting his face down to the teen at his side. “Take it from him.”

Ron’s eyes flickered again. The helpless obedience was working him into something indiscernible as the air hummed.

“N-No,” he said, lit up in a crackling surge. His breaths were heavy and deep as the brightness threatening to break free, reaching and throbbing below his veins.

“The hell,” the hitman swore quietly, dragging Tom in with surprising speed and hovering something over his throat. “Alright, Firefly, keep it in or else-”

“No!” Ron shouted it like a spell this time, giving permission for the vibrating energy to break through and encompass Sawbuck as it had done his injury. “You won’t! You stay away from us, and stop hurting him, and stop hurting Cissy...”

The light in him was fading and coming undone at the heart, forcing him onto his knees. It burned in Sawbuck instead, and Tom backed away and tried to get a grip on his wand.

“And-” _Don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him_. “Pay!”

Everything burst into white-gold chaos, and as Sawbuck cried out and began to fade away Tom turned around in dread.

There was a brief second, where he saw the child rubbing his chest in dazed confusion, touching the last thread of light. Before he could step forward, reining in some equations in his mind, they disappeared together.

Tom leaned against the wall heavily, while Malfoy sat up to stare at the empty spaces.

“You gave it to him,” she said hollowly.

He didn’t respond.

“He’s in Diagon Alley now, isn’t he. With that man.”

“Yes.” He offered a hand, and she took it with a long gaze of understanding.

“Are you sorry at all?”

“Yes.” He didn’t bother asking the subject - Tom was sorry for just about everything at this point. “You?”

“No. Regretful, perhaps,” Narcissa considered him carefully. “But you shouldn’t be. I doubt you know what s-spell you cast.”

She let out a long sigh when Tom nodded. Letting go of his arm, she composed herself and fixed her dress with a flick of her wand as she made heedful strides back the way they came.

“You are coming with me?”

“Caring less is not uncaring, Tom,” Narcissa said, glancing over her shoulder.

“And I will not let them take our home.”

***

It was going to be any minute now. The position of the moon and patterns of starlight were giving him a sense of deja vu (if one could call it that).

Tom paced down the streets alone. Narcissa had gone to Borgin and Burkes, mentioning there was something unwanted in their stores - the ‘Vanishing Cabinet’, a portal of some kind. He mourned the tactical disadvantage, though the isolation was welcome.

Quiet as well. Even the tense and ominous brand was a delicious flavor after the sounds of panic and fighting - the noises that pervaded the store not twenty meters in front of him.

They crescendoed into an eruption of pure brilliance, and he took it as a sign to move away from the view of the storefront.

From his hiding place, Tom searched the wreckage carefully with a racing heart, willing himself to look away from the Felt members rising up in the debris. Distantly, quick steps thumped toward the frenzy - he would have only a few moments to do this correctly.

Calming his nerves, he went over the fight in steps and processes, bringing forth every second of action that he possessed with clarity. It forced away the headache forming from watching To- _himself_ , let him keep an eye on his target instead.

The dark hair moved out of view, retreating into the store. Tom paid that no mind, counting down the seconds until Clover and Sawbuck followed him away from the hunched-over blond - but they remained just in reach.

 _Screw it_ , he decided, praying that they paid him no attention.

The teen tried to conceal his footfalls, holding in a cough as he approached Ron from behind. His attempt at stealth held up until he was right within reach.

“W- Mmph!” Tom covered his mouth right away, motioning to lift him up.

The smaller boy glanced into the store with pinched indecision.

 _I’m right here_ , he mouthed, his other hand on Ron’s shoulder. _Trust me._

He nodded hesitantly, and Tom took that as permission to throw him over his shoulder and dash around as if their lives depended on it.

The real explosion went off only a moment later.

Had he wasted any time to turn and look up, he knew the sky would have burned vibrant, firework blue, sending out a wave of smoke and fire.

Wait - he _was_ looking up at it.

He tripped in surprise, Ron letting out a sigh of relief by his side and releasing his hand. They were quite a bit further now, directly in front of where the entrance had been.

“Can you hear okay?” he asked, voice dry and pained.

“What?”

“Blast pressure can hurt your eardrums. I, uh, only increased the volume and adjusted airspeed a bit at our range, but you, well, you heard me. Right?”

Tom nodded, ignoring the sharp ringing in his ears. There was something else, though, still shifting about the storefront.

Clover waved at him.

Both of them tensed, taking slow steps backwards. The Felt gave them a thumbs-up, turning around to inspect the inexplicably-persisting, lit fireplace.

Neither boy could move a muscle, only watch as the thin man rummaged around the floor on his way. Clover kicked away a piece of the black ooze that had sealed the hearth, humming to himself.

“He’s gonna Floo,” Ron whispered, tugging his sleeve.

As if taking those words as an order, Clover stepped into the fire with nary a pause. Before he was entirely consumed, he gave them a thumbs up and shouted towards them.

“Thanks for the help, kid!” he crowed happily. “ _Le Régent du Marais_!”

His cackle bounced off the broken walls, somehow more haunting than the destruction left in his fiery wake. The stray flames in the streets crackled quietly in comparison, illuminating its brokenness.

“Shit,” Ron croaked. “They got Ollivander.”

“Malfoy is coming,” he said, thinking of nothing else encouraging.

“He is? When did you see him? Is he okay?”

“I met _her_ at a strange time,” Tom checked him over. “Can you take us anywhere?”

“Maybe,” Ron winced. “But how-”

He tried to recall a few of Narcissa’s healing spells, guessing based on their vaguely-recalled translations.

“Tergeo,” It cleaned him up a bit, particularly the stain of red on his face - but the tight expression was still there. “Consano, Perlustro, _Espikey_.”

That seemed to do it.

“You forgot the robes,” someone commented dryly. “Reparo.”

Ron blind-sided him with a bright, open grin and vanished from sight before either could process Narcissa’s appearance. His tight hug nearly swept them off their feet, stiffening her from weariness.

“Cissy! Er, um, Ms. Malfoy,” he said lamely, rubbing the back of his neck and backing off.

“Sorry, just had a feeling something bad happened. Well, something worse, I guess.”

Tom wanted to throw something at him - at both of them. Shoving down that ugly emotion curling about, he comforted himself in Ron’s ignorance instead. They had already known each other after all, and the naive child had no reason to assume she was a _traitorous little_ -

“It is fine. I,” She swallowed, wearing a gratifyingly shameful expression. “We were also relatively concerned.”

Sparing little notice to his mending seams, Tom watched her examine his chest. Besides the faded bruise, the skin was very much ‘unstabbed’, even if the boy was a bit dizzy and out-of-sorts.

“Wait, what are you guys wearing?” Not dizzy enough, it seemed.

“You just noticed that now?” said Tom, tugging his jacket with an eye roll.

“Hey, I dunno if you noticed, but your crap taste wasn’t exactly my top priority.”

“What, were those tasteless robes higher on the list?”

“We can answer any relevant questions later,” interrupted Narcissa. “Ron, what is your limit right now?”

“S’hard to focus, but I think I can manage all of us,” he said, shoulders slumping. “Just not far. South of Wilshire at best.”

“That should do,” she said, tilting her head at the rising cacophony approaching on the horizon. “Anywhere is better than here.”

“Why not just ‘apparate’?”

“Traceable,” they chimed, locking their arms together.

Ron beckoned him with his free hand, the shorter boy’s posture straight and focused while their fingers met. Noticing how his mouth was tipped down, Tom squeezed his hand.

“You will be fine,” he murmured, receiving a soft exhale and a nod.

“Yeah, I got it.”

He tugged them forward, and the world transformed.

“...but, thanks.”


End file.
